Our friend Sergio has a dream tucked beneath layers of rust in a salvage yard.
Whenever we need an old unique piece made of iron, we go to see Sergio. He’s been tirelessly collecting everything iron for decades now, and his collection is indeed impressive. He has meticulously gathered everything from enormous iron gates from the largest villas in Tuscany, to the miscellaneous small parts to make them work. He has old statues, machines, beds and swords. You name it. He has it. (more…)
“St. Anthony, St. Anthony, please come down
Something is lost and can’t be found”
We have a great friend, Zia. We’ve worked with her for years on various projects, and whenever we needed something that seemed to be lost, she recited this little prayer to Saint Anthony. Miraculously, it always seemed to work. Once, in fact, she located something missing in our own home because Saint Anthony told her it was on a specific shelf in the dining room cabinet. I thought it was an unlikely place, but Em encourage me to immediately go home to check it out anyway—and there it was, just like Zia said. Or just like Saint Anthony said. That experience made us believers, even though we’ve rarely used the prayer since . . . except for one particular day in France! (more…)
A few months ago, we came across a program called “Workaway.” It’s an online organization that allows people who need help to find those people who want to help. Or conversely, people who want to help, can find someone with an engaging project. The idea is simple. If you want to spend time in Norway, then find a project and volunteer. How about New Zealand? South Africa? Peru? Just send them a message and see what happens. You might be surprised. We were. (more…)
Illusion is a distortion of the senses.
The brain picks up visual cues that are recognizable, instantly fitting them into familiar patterns. In a flash, it issues a report about what’s going on. The brain fills in the blanks. Normally, we “believe” what we see. However, sometimes we’re reminded that our brain isn’t infallable and that our perceptions aren’t necessarily reality. In fact, we can have an ah-ha! moment when we realize that what we see is only an illusion. (more…)
Gordon Matthew Sumner wore a favorite black and yellow striped shirt so often, that a friend finally blurted out that he looked like a bee. The nickname stuck. You might know him better today as Sting.
We’ve always enjoyed his particular style of jazz/rock, and have waited for him to show up in concert in our neighborhood for a decade or so. That day finally arrived, and it was well worth the wait. He played at a place called Piazzola sul Brenta, which is a town not far from Venice, Verona, and Padova. Piazzola was never a particularly noteworthy destination until they decided to develop the magnificent 16th century Villa Contarini (attributed to the famous architect Andrea Palladio,) into an unbelievable concert venue. Now, it has worldwide acclaim, and for very good reason! (more…)
Why would anyone voluntarily leave Italy? Good question. But, that’s another story for another time. So . . . given that we wanted to “get out of Dodge,” we asked ourselves one simple question, “How can we most quickly and easily leave, yet still enjoy rolling hillsides of enchantment and inspiration, all the while, eating incomparable pastries, local cuisine and of course, a refreshing gelato now and again?” The answer was obvious: Corsica. (more…)
A brainstorm rewarded us with a great new idea for the garden: a “perch,” built into the slope behind the house, overlooking the grape arbor, the studio, and of course the valley. Besides many heavy stones, we needed some gravel. So, we went to one of our favorite ferramente, hardware stores, Guidotti in Pontassieve. Since we hadn’t been there for a while, we were glad to see our old friends Roberto and Francesco, who had been so helpful in the past with a number of knotty problems. They informed us that the gravel yard had closed promptly at noon, so we’d have to return at 13:30. In the meantime, they suggested a rosticceria, a roasting restaurant in Sieci, where we could eat. Nice idea! (more…)
Through the olive groves, vineyards and cypress trees, there is a trail in the northern hills of Florence that leads from the Cave, old stone quarries of Maiano, to the ancient borgo, town of Settignano. On this very trail, young Michelangelo walked from his hometown to his beloved quarries to select stone for his sculptures. With every footstep the history of the world was changed, during those enchanted days of the Italian Rinascimento, Renaissance. (more…)
We sat down on the perfectly placed stone bench to enjoy a quiet moment with nature. A rustling sound began somewhere nearby: perhaps two lizards playing, a harmless garden snake, or just leaves blowing in the evening breeze. However, the strange sound intensified and before we knew it, we were sitting amid rubble. Our sacred stone perch overlooking the valley had literally disintegrated beneath us. No one was even slightly injured, but our quiet meditation had been bruised rather badly. (more…)
A mad dash between trains: the one from Lure, France arrived 30 minutes late. 5:45 pm, and the one to Vernon was scheduled to depart in 7 minutes.
We raced to the ticket machine. It was less than agreeable. In fact, it refused to issue the tickets that we’d selected. So we just ran for the train. We’d buy tickets on board, paying a premium for the privilege, no doubt. (more…)
Uncommon promise 