(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.
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(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. (A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19, first published March 11, 2020)
My Italia is not entirely herself today. Sure, she still is beautiful, even with her dust mask half on, hole cut out for her nose to peek through (I don't correct her, she's never been practical and one must breathe, even in times like these). She's beautiful even with shutters where there should be open doors and the smell of coffee. But she’s quieter than usual on a sunny late winter morning; the warmth and light have not brought with them the expected chaos. And, when we meet halfway through the empty piazza, she is perhaps just a little less exuberant in her affection: should I kiss you? Should I not kiss you? (Ok maybe just this once as I would be sorry to have missed the chance.) Looking through the fence, through the carefully pruned and tied up climbing roses which just now are sprouting new red shoots, to where there should have been sown rows of favas already dark green and leggy between the mounds of grey artichokes, and likely the last of last autumn’s fat ruffled cabbages alongside slim feathery bulbs of fennel, but instead, finding dry patches of weeds and a shovel propped against the stone wall at the far end of the garden, comes an understanding, belatedly, of that which earlier in the morning, from the church down in the piazza, was an unscheduled long ringing of bells.
First published March 6, 2020 |
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
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