(A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19,
first published March 22, 2020) I’ve just come home from the studio for lunch and he’s still in pajamas. This is unusual. I kiss his forehead. “No fever. “ I say. “I should take my temperature.” “I’m 100% sure that you don’t have a fever.” I say walking past him towards the kitchen. I take temperatures the way my mother did, with a kiss to the forehead. Only if it’s important to know the number do we take out a thermometer. I see that the thermometer is on the table by the sofa. “How many times have you taken your temperature today?”
0 Comments
(A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19,
first published March 20, 2020) Usually I don’t see anyone when I go walking in the woods. Months will go by and maybe I will see one person collecting kindling and maybe I’ll see somebody else hunting mushrooms. I’ve learned seasons by questions like: where are you going? You going to pick chestnuts? The questions that come whenever I’m caught going up the hill by someone in town, as they remember something they did when they were children. There are few reasons to venture into the forest. (A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19,
first published March 19, 2020) Today is the festival of San Giuseppe. Yesterday, troops roll through Napoli, the seat of the region of Campania where I live. The day before that, my architect is stopped in the street in front of our studio. They tell him he has to work from home. If they see him again they will fine him. It doesn’t escape me that the origins of fascism are Italian. “Fascina”: a bundle of sticks, strength in unity. I’m sure it sounded reasonable at the time. “It doesn’t escape me that the origins of fascism are Italian.” I say. He thinks I’m overreacting. (A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19,
first published March 18, 2020) The cities and towns have all gone quiet but the countryside follows its own rhythm. It is quiet in the winter. It is quiet when it rains. It is quiet briefly at midday most seasons, longer in summer. But it isn’t quiet now. Farmers don’t follow ordinances, they follow Nature. Today there tractors in the fields, chainsaws on the hillsides; three-wheeled trucks buzz from town to somewhere beyond and back again. Today I’m tired and just want to hear the soothing noises that the forest makes. It is a glorious day. (A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19,
first published March 17, 2020) "Micio!” I call. The big picture, the global view, has receded this morning. My attention has been scattered wide lately. My attention has been on our family trifecta: China, Italy, New York. My attention has been in the valley: new cases; roads are blocked. But my attention today is focused on a very localized and intimate detail of the global picture. “Miciomiciomicio!” There’s no response. There hasn’t been for a week now, but I try anyway. Today I leave the back door open, just in case, and go upstairs. (A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19,
first published March 16, 2020) I can hear them outside in the piazza. I peek through the curtains. There are three of them and they are clearly not following the order to "restate a casa", stay at home. They are keeping their distance from each other as suggested though, and there’s about a meter and a half or more between each of them. Which means they’re shouting at each other. They’re shouting at each other. Yes, I know. Should we say something? What can we say? I don’t know… “stop shouting”? “We live here”? “Go home for chrissake”? (A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19,
first published March 15, 2020) I wake to the sound of bells, as always. Despite the call to the early mass, the piazza won’t fill this morning. No one will lean against our kitchen window gossiping, unaware that we’re drinking our coffee inside. I don’t especially mind. A piano sings faintly from two floors up. I’m slicing the bread when he comes in. I can tell something is different. “What do we want to do today?” he says. (A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19, first published March 14, 2020) I look into this face all afternoon because I don’t want to look at the news anymore. I don’t want to look out the window either right now but something’s going on so I do anyway. The carabinieri have stopped a car full of people who should’ve known better than to go four all together. To make it worse, they don’t have their documents in order: they’re missing the auto-certification that states where they’re going and proves that where they’re going is on the very short list of “acceptable” outings permitted. I watch the argument, the exchange of paperwork. They’ve been fined and they’ll have to go home to a full 15-day quarantine, no exit for any reason whatsoever now. The new directives for our region came out last night and are, inexplicably, more strident than the national regulations. It is even forbidden just to go for a walk. Out here in the countryside that makes no sense and I feel the stirring of revolt. Where I go, they won’t find me. (A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19,
first published March 13, 2020) The first thing in the morning he reads out the numbers. There are many numbers and whether they’ve climbed or fallen since yesterday, they’re not good numbers. In our house there’s no fever. There’s a jar full of coins by the front door. We don’t count them but I guess €3.53, our “rainy day fund”, the “financial cushion” I've heard people talk about. He wants to invest it in seeds for the garden. I know what goodness grows in the woods and think we should save it instead for our first caffè and cornetto out in the piazza when we’re finally allowed... we’ll have to split the cornetto (unless there’s more change than I think in the jar) but we’ll have had a moment of blissful civility. (A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19,
first published March 12, 2020) The discussion over lunch starts innocuously enough. “I’m going to head over to the market [the only one that doesn’t close for three hours at lunch] before I head back to the studio. Anything in particular you think we need? “ “What? No. ARE YOU CRAZY?? You’re not going.” I just look at him. “…Because there’ll be PEOPLE there.” “Um, yes… I would imagine there would be. But it’s lunchtime, so not so many.” “NO. You’re not going. Absolutely not.” For balance, every household needs one person who’s OCD is rearing its disinfected-6-times-today-already head, and one person who is continuously on the verge of a mass-murder-suicide trip. |
MBI added this blog as a way to share some thoughts and experiences around the impact of Covid-19 on my life here in Southern Italy. These posts have been a near-daily practice during this time and are largely unedited, most having been first posted on Facebook. They are of course in order with the most recent entry on the first page. I invite you to explore previous posts or even start from the beginning. Archives
June 2022
|