Venice in Winter

Canal Grande

Twilight soccer, Campo San Giacomo 

Titian, Basilica dei Frari

Canals, calles, and campos.

The continuous echo of church bells and lacy palazzos. 

Venetian red.  The Bridge of Sighs.

Boats and cobblestones, no cars.

An empty museum.

 Ethereal, fragile.

The Learned, The Fat, and The Red

Bologna: La Dotta, La Grassa, La Rossa. 

The Learned, The Fat, and The Red. 

The famed university, oldest in Europe (and many bookstores). 

The food! (more on that later) 

and (depending on who you ask) 

its red rooftops or its far-left/Socialist/Communist political leanings.

A vital, thriving, non-touristy city. 

Exceptionally walkable with 40 km of porticos,

and severe limits on center city traffic. 

Beautiful, medieval, small, complex.

La Passeggiata,

that occurs every evening in villages, town, and cities throughout Italy.

Families and friend stroll, gossip, chat, flirt, pause 

for a gelato, espresso or aperitif, to admire a baby or a small dog.

I adore this ritual, observed it, happy and envious.

I got sick right after I returned. A cold, a virus, but also 

my reluctance to return here from there, 

my way of stretching out the space between,

 savoring it, imprinting it deeper, 

so when I fully return I will be a little different than when I left.

And the food. Oh, the food. The freshest, most flavorful pastas, 

deeply savory cured meats and cheeses. 

The challenge of ordering from salumerias and formaggerias

with my thirty words of Italian.

Fruit and vegetables from hot wild places to the south.  

Every day I bought clementines from Calibria, 

the leaves still fresh, the fruit so sweet.

The scent of political engagement everywhere, especially in the university quarter.

Memorial to the victims of the 1980 Bologna train station bombing that killed 87, 

and the victims of two train bombings. 

The horror in France occurs while I am in Italy, 

and I am reminded how small and strong and vulnerable and unique these countries are.

A room with a view.

(If you missed it, my previous post was about New Years Eve in Bologna.)

Buon Anno!

Happy New Year, friends! A little late, but traveling gives me a fresh perspective on things, and I return with resolutions, born of new experiences. One is to get out more and let myself have fun. 

I spent New Years Eve in the 13th century Piazza Maggiore in Bologna, where precisely at midnight the ritual of burning away the old year, symbolized by a huge sculpture that a different artist makes every year, began. It was spectacular and I really enjoyed the whole scene. 

I'm home now, and will be back with more soon. xo, Jen

la dolce vita

The last time I was in Italy was October 2011. 

If you go back in the archives you'll find some posts about it.

I had a store then and every weekend (almost) 

drove four hours to the Catskills to run it.

 I was still practicing law, representing mentally ill people in court.

I've closed the store and stopped practicing law, except for some pro bono work.

I'm painting, almost full-time, and writing a book,

blogging (occasionally) and instagramming (a lot).

I've become a crazy cat lady.

Tomorrow I return to Italy. 

It will be cold, but it's cold here too.

There will be New Years in Bologna
known as La Dotta, La Grassa, La Rossa 
(the learned, the fat one, and the red)

and wandering through Venice without crowds.

It will be good to see new things, and 

it will be good to come home.

See you then. Be good. Have fun!

xo, Jen

on the waterfront

The Italian film Shun Li and the Poet, is about friendship, mostly, and immigration, poets and fishing. It is poignant and lovely and sad, a little bit heartwarming, a dash of toughness. I found it on dvd at the library, a great source for movies. I also recently read a fierce and loving book called My Brilliant Friend, by Elena Ferrante, the story of the friendship of two girls in Naples in the 1950's. So detailed and fascinating and infuriating. It is the first in a trilogy, and I am making myself wait a bit before I read the next one.

The above pictures were taken last weekend, on the waterfront in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

home

Back from narrow cobbled streets lined with houses in the softest oranges, yellows, pinks and umbers; from consistently warm people and good food, from long drives on narrow mountain roads, from no tv and almost no computer. From the slow life.

My refrigerator is empty and desk is full. I hope to integrate some of the loveliness of Italy into my busy American life.

buon giorno

Hello Friends--I am still in Italy, and have had limited computer access since leaving Yuri and Vera's, but have been taking lots of pictures and notes, and when I return will weave some of them into posts relevent to this blog which I try to keep (at least loosely) connected to the store.

Everywhere I turn I am inspired.

Castelvetro di Modena

I love the rustic simplicity of the medieval towns, and the importance of good food.

I want a Carpathian Wolf Dog. Meet Akeela, Yuri and Vera's dog. Half German Shepherd and half Carpathian timber wolf, and the sweetest, most soulful dog I've ever met. Sorry I didn't get a picture of her outside of the fence. (She has her own lovely, hilly acre where, when unattended, she can see everything that's going on and the neighbor's chickens, which are truly free-range, are safe.) Is it shallow of me to want to use the word Carpathian when referring to my dog? Such images the word conjures up.

I have been taking a lot of picture of walls

and missing the store. Here's a random list I made the other night when thinking of how to improve it:
Seamus Heaney/Robert Frost
the old barn
Americana
old-fashioned newsletter
Dylan Thomas
everything has a story
themes: botanicals, the road not taken,
meander
country childhood
Slow Food

I am in Tuscany now--going to Florence this afternoon and so excited. I was there many years ago, and am hungry to see the Botticellis and Santo Spirito and to wander the small streets. I return home Tuesday and look forward to catching up with you.

Jen

in Italy, thinking about the store

                                                           in the village of Rocca Grimalda

I have been thinking about my store and particularly the name Country Weekend. When planning, I devoted a lot of time to the name, leaning toward something to do with nature, especially a bird name--perhaps Bluebird, the New York State bird, or Mockingbird because it was the 50th anniversary of the publication of To Kill a Mockingbird. However there are an abundance of stores with bird and bird-related names and I wanted to do something different. 

                             view from Yuri and Vera's house, Rocca Grimalda

My husband and I always refer to going to our house in the Catskills as going to the country. Saying that gives me a particular sense of anticipation--a blend of the smell of woodsmoke, the sound of the brook, bright stars, crisp air... I wanted to find a way to convey that in my name for the store--I knew that most of my customers would be weekenders. I don't think I was particularly successful. It's too long (I figured that out when having signs made), and it doesn't signal what kind of business it is. Is it a travel agency perhaps?

above: closeup of tiles from the roof below, on a building at the dairy farm in Rossiglione.

I've thought about changing the name. I'm probably going to close for a while this winter, freshen things up, so I could do it them. Maybe call it Fern & Moss or Forest. Or something clever. But I have my logo, my business cards, my signs, and it could be confusing to my present customers. So I will stay with it and make the best of it.

Outdoor wood-burning oven at Yuri and Vera's. 

Tonight for dinner we had pizza, lasagna and chicken all baked in this oven, and yes the lasagna noodles were hand-made and practically melted in my mouth. I am finding the country weekend state of mind in abundance here in Italy and hope that I will find new ways of thinking about my store, and my life, while I am here. 

dispatch from Italy

For the last day and a half I've felt like I was living in a movie. We are visiting our friends Yuri and Vera, who are semi-retired, and five years ago bought a vineyard here in the Piedmont region. There is a vast sprawling complex of very old buildings and many acres of grapevines. At dinner last night were an assortment of people who have led adventurous lives and speak many languages. Much good food and wine and wide-ranging conversations.

the house

the vineyards

Today we went to Ovada for lunch. It is the end of porcini season and the beginning of truffle season. The appertivo was a poached egg with a bright orange yolk, covered with a creamy sauce made from sheeps milk cheese, and white truffles shaved before out eyes by our waiter. The primi was first a hand-made pasta with fresh porcini, then pasta with truffles (all fresh of course, but I am over-using the word). By then I was full and happy, but it is Italy, and you must have a secondi. I broke the rules and had minestrone, but others had suckling pig and wild boar stew.  I did find room for green apple and raspberry sorbet for my dolce.

the restaurant

Ovada

Then we went high into the hills to a dairy for milk and cheese. After such a lunch, dinner was simple and satisfying: fruit, cheese and bread by the fire.

The restaurant where we had lunch is run by two brothers, which reminded me of one of my favorite movies, Big Night, about two brothers from Italy who open a restaurant in New Jersey in the 1950's.

More soon.

Jen

leaving home

                                          Rocca Grimalda, Italy                 

Tomorrow I leave for Italy--my first time abroad in many years. We will visit friends who live near the mediaeval village of Rocca Grimalda, then to another mediaeval village in the Emila Romagna region, and lastly to Tuscany. This will be a journey through lightly touristed villages, small cities, cafes, good food, and vistas. You know--la dolce vita, il dolce far niente, in other words, lots of dolce.

                                                               my living room armchair

Leaving home has always been hard for me. And at some point I developed a fear of flying, which I have gradually gotten over--this trans-oceanic flight is the last big hurdle. I keep trying to be braver, less fearful, to be calm and open.

                                                              my bedroom armchair

It's time to stop being an armchair traveler. I hope to be able to dispatch a few posts, read your blogs and comment while I'm gone, but don't expect me until you see me. Ciao, my friends.


Jen