While I was writing the post below, this song came on. It's there in the midst of my Zucchero collection, and I was stunned by it.
I went searching, found the youtube and realised, if I had been photographing that event ... I would have cried as I worked. It's beautiful, in that deep way ... that touches a soul.
I do hope the neighbours didn't mind. It's 9.32am but the volume just had to go up ... way up.
…And that’s why i have to go back
to so many places
there to find myself
and constantly examine myself
with no witness but the moon
and then whistle with joy,
ambling over rocks and clods of earth,
with no task but to live,
with no family but the road.
Pablo Neruda
I found Pablo Neruda's words in my inbox, via The Quotationist, and I thought 'yes'. Sometimes I just need 'the road' because ...
These days have been dizzy, giddy, fast-moving days. And in recognition of the pace and insanity, I am quietly developing this habit of throwing myself back at my bed on a Sunday - to read and nap and sleep and rest because I have been tired.
I returned from Italy and stepped straight into 10+ days with the delightful Miss 7. She had 8 of those days off school but we read a lot of Harry Potter, walked in the park, talked about interesting things and maybe we had quite some fun.
My stepdaughter arrived for a few days too. And I was cleaning and cooking and slipping back into this life while trying not to think about the fact that my daughter and her daughter are moving countries soon.
I'm fortunate. Their destination is no longer that small South American village, reachable only by horseback ... that place where tarantulas and scorpions are commonplace. And it's no longer New Zealand ... some 16,000kms away from me.
Instead, it's just next door, over in Germany. I can do that.
Gert used his environmentally-friendly gift cheques to buy me a bicycle ... a brand new one. The first brand new bicycle I've ever owned but that's a whole other story that needs blogging, with photographs. I love my new bike though.
I've been putting together my book on Genova, and editing it ... because I edit. It's not a good thing. It may be that I'm seeking perfection ... just perfection. So yes, I need someone to take my first draft from me, as I write, and not let me edit until the whole thing is done. I know this thing about me but I'm not sure of the solution.
And I have received the first draft of the story of a special wine and a family and their friends in Italy. I can't wait to write that up and share the photographs with you. It's one of those stories that make me smile whenever I think on it.
I have made a yoga date and hope to become a creature who rescues herself with the practice of yoga.
Paola, Simon and Matteo came to dinner on Saturday night. It was good to sit down and catch up with them again. They bought wine ... my beloved Banfi. Gert cooked a pie from The Hairy Bikers Perfect Pies Cookbook. It was lovely, although we're still experimenting with pastries here in this country that doesn't sell the New Zealand pastry I knew and loved.
On Friday, I was running all over Brussels, meeting with the most delightful people. First stop was my accountant ... she who rescues me from the hellish complication of daring to be self-employed in Belgium. Then on to Paola, to return her Genova keys and catch up. And then a little further, to the inspiring New Zealand artist, wise woman, and friend, Wendy Leach.
Oh, and I sold a photograph that will be published in a book. News to follow when that all comes to fruition.
Hmmmm, Stephanie and Catalina came to dinner last Wednesday night, and I had a tooth rebuilt on the Tuesday ... a second tooth. I do appreciate my wonderful Belgian dentist.
There was an English church fete on Sunday with Stephanie, Catalina, Miss 7 and I ... and a phone call home to my dad because he turned 76. And on it goes. You see the giddy mad slide that is my life?
But I think I must love it because nothing ever changes. It's always kind of mad and chaotic and full of good people, and frustrations, and things slipping through my fingers, or arriving - in all their beauty - in front of me.
Anyway, all that to say that I haven't been quite so bloggy lately but I will be again ... soon.
The extraordinarily wise Miss 7...
She pulled me round the flower garden, my camera and I.
25+ years ago, I had this little munchkin. It was love at first sight and I spent the next few years as her devoted slave.
Unbeknown to the baby police and those in charge of new mothers, I developed this habit of singing her to sleep. Most especially when she was ill. And there was a 'favourites' list ...otherwise known as the songs that got her to sleep most successfully.
She still remembers them.
I have just come downstairs, from my granddaughter's bedroom, after quietly uncurling myself from the edge of her bed.
I remembered the routine for stopping the songs and the signs were all good. She had slept through the songs ending, and slept on through me cautiously moving off the bed. She slept through me leaving the room and I think we might be okay now.
It's hot here tonight. She had an incredibly late night last night and, unsurprisingly, she complained of a headache at bedtime. One that wouldn't, 'just wouldn't!' go away. And wicked gran that I am, I had no painkiller in the house. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
But there was something delicious about telling her of the songs I had always sung to her mum and that, shhhhhh, we probably shouldn't tell her mum but I was going to sing them to her too now.
Mull of Kintyre continues to be 'the' song that most successfully sends small children to sleep. But you should know, it's not a routine to enter into lightly. When you sing small children to sleep you must either stroke their forehead or walk with them in your arms while you sing ...
10 minutes, and a quiet amazement that I still knew all the lyrics, she was asleep and here I am , smiling over memories of those long ago days back home in New Zealand ... back when I was just a young mum.
This morning, I set the alarm for 6.15am, giving me time to clean the apartment before leaving ... two loads of laundry to do.
I woke at 5.20am and lay thinking how unfair it was, knowing there was no way to sleep again.
I showered, put the first load of laundry through, and packed. I began mopping floors and then voila, almost 8am, and I needed breakfast.
I sat at an outside table at Caffe Degli Specchi, with a cappuccino and brioche, realising that today was the day of leaving Genova ... again.
And so I walked, through the city's centro storico ... walked until just after 8.30am. The air is a soft 17 degrees celsius, the sun is out and, as always, all around me was the quiet hum of this city I love.
'Ciao!' is everywhere. It makes me smile. People arrive in the cafes, pass each other in the street, arrive at work ... 'Ciao'.
I'll miss that.
Someone has written a long story on the footpaths here. Beautiful Liguria has the story on Facebook. I didn't have my camera but I stopped this young guy and asked what it was about. Apparently, it's something to do with WWII. It's neatly written and seemed like another of those surprises that Genova presents to her people. It happened in the night I think.
Anna, from the Beautiful Liguria website, let me know about the story today: 'It is a story of love between a Jewish lady and a Russian guy in world war II.'
Laundry is already out and hanging across via Ravecca. My kitchen window is open and, here I am, this New Zealander who simply loves those times when she comes stay awhile in this private, elegant, chaotic, sometimes dirty, exquisite, secretive, ancient, post-modern city nestled between the hills and sea.
This warm and welcoming cafe has become my favourite place to stop for a breakfast coffee, here in Genova.
Caffè degli Specchi, or the Cafe of Mirrors, is like so many of the cafes here in the city, a hub of activity. The Genovese call in on their way someplace else, select a pastry, and order their cappuccino or espresso. Some drink standing at the bar but I love to sit outside and watch the world pass me by. The sandwiches make a rather nice lunch too.
Jimmy, pictured below, is responsible for the best cofee I have had in a long time. He greets customers as they arrive and switches to English for those who, like me, are liguistically impaired. Their aperitivo, later in the day, is also rather special.
Located at Salita Pollaiuoli 43, it's not far from Palazzo Ducale and is a must-visit kind of cafe.
