The island of the dead

Cemetery scenes are an important part of my story. My mother would take us on picnics to Oakland and since then, they have always been one of my favorite places of resting and thinking. San Michele did not disappoint. We arrived there an hour before a light rain and spent our time searching for Ezra Pound and Stravinsky’s grave sights. The failure to find them didn’t really matter in the end because we discovered so many other sights along the way. One scene was in the lush corner where Pound supposedly rests, a mother sea gull was watching over the two fledglings who were trying clumsily to earn their right to fly. I kept my distance (but am fairly certain that is where Pound was hiding). 

Anyway, again, due to time and brain strain, just click on the URL below to see the pictures. The first few pictures are of Murano, the land of the lovely glass. It warrants more said and documented about it, but I have a token I wear around my neck of that place. 

http://picasaweb.google.com/juliapadgett/SanMichele

Venice pictures

Yes, Mendy and I had a fantastic time in Venice. It was her first time and will be my last time for a bit. As usual, Mendy brought the sun. It was expected to rain the entire time and instead we had blue skies up until the last 2 hours there.

You can see from the pics that I continue to have a love affair with the guggenheim collection and space. I spent a long time there trying to figure out a way to bind myself to that place. Of course, upon leaving I saw a quote that made me realize perhaps binding is not the strategy. I took a picture of it, so watch for it.

I organized this album in a strange way, so things I viewed as “reflection” “texture” or “color” are lumped together and anachronistic to our journey. Also, Mendy pics and Julia pics are in batches. Sorry for the washed out quality — we must work with what we have and between my bad camera and the little time I have to correct pics, well, you can see the result.

I’ll post the ones from San Michele (the cemetery) separate. (And later.) Look for Mendy’s pics on her blog this weekend.

I hate wordpress. Just click on this URL to see the album. I don’t have time for delicacy and design.

http://picasaweb.google.com/juliapadgett/Venice

 

 

bipolar bliss

Beyond just speaking directly about my mental self (I’ll speak more on why later) I’m also referring to one of those fantastic nights where nothing is easy but everything is good. 

I was invited to the American Consulate which lies next to the Arno in a gorgeous building. For those of you that read my previous blog, yes, I made it on time and not too ruffled from my motorcycle ride. I even beat Luigi there, actually, but not Frank and his crew. 

And the consul was very warm and she danced a bit with Frank’s dad and Luigi and Frank gawked at her beauty and charisma. In the meantime, I broke a champagne glass on a marble mantle, laughed at someone when he told me his name was Marco Polo (and it was Marco Polo) and basically became the brutta figura I know deep down I am. I truly hate swank (and this wasn’t even that swank), but I did it because it was slightly important to two men in my life and at least I was able to drink free bubbly for a bit. Luigi did convince the band to sing a few more songs and he honored me by imitating a great crooner. To top that stage of the evening off, he asked the consul to go to CPA with us sometime. Oh, the CPA, I’ll explain, but needless to say she didn’t go that night but did take Luigi’s card. He has guts, that one.

We ate at Enovino (I think that’s the name) and then taxied (such extravagance) to the other side of the Arno and arrived at CPA. The CPA is a communist party organization that holds movie screenings, bands, talks, etc. for super cheap (and the best bar prices in town). It is, in short, what Americans would call a dive — but with a philosophical core that sets it apart. Once there we watched a movie in Italian, were served small cocktails that tasted like sweet tea, I lectured on the word benediction, we read some poetry written by the bartender’s boyfriend and listened to music. It’s easy for those of you that know me to see which side of the river I prefer.

Can’t really express the great dichotomy between the two worlds we participated in, but pleasure can be found in both. And the music never stops.

not such a good Friday

Before I begin checking email, or facebooking, or anything else, I need to purge.

The day is beautiful, but . . . OK, so I have more train station classes, one of which is not at the train station but a bit past the fortezza here in Florence and from my place in Coverciano it takes roughly an hour to get there. I wake, prepare, do laundry, etc. I’m actually on time for a change. Once I change buses at the station, I notice there is another strike this afternoon, but I don’t have to worry until later. I arrive at the school. It is hot in the sun. I wait. I go get a coffee. I wait some more. I enter the building and go to the offices of where my students usually work. An angry lady asks me what I’m doing. I explain I’m waiting for my students. Consternation crosses her face.

Phone calls are made. Beckoning to me, I am handed the phone. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why Alessandro isn’t there. I told him I wouldn’t be there.” It is one of the students. Apparently, there was also a strike by the train people. Hmm, ok, two hours wasted (but I do still get paid). More hot sun. Impossibly crowded buses. I come back home.

I eat. The school is insisting I take a class which begins Monday. Monday evening I have plans at the Consulate here. I try to explain. I’m making calls to verify. People are upset. Bosses are upset. I’m beginning to feel a bit angry too. Finally compromise. I will teach the class and then get a lift from Antonio on a motorcycle (while I’m dressed for party) therefore only being a bit late. Everyone is happy. 

Then I teach my class. This student apparently has forgotten everything in 2 days that I have tried to teach him in the past 8 months. I can actually hear my blood pumping through my head. I try to not get angry. We all have bad days. Right?

More conversation about the Monday problem. Agreements are made. Things will be fine. I leave.

Then, walking to the bus stop, I remember. Oh, yeah, another strike. I walk home. 

Needless to say, I’m drinking a glass of wine now. And there is a chance of a concert. The worm turns in the right direction. (Let’s hope.)

(As an aside: I was too tired to go to the concert. Instead, Luigi treated me with a call during the song “Baudelaire” and I danced on my balcony. Ahhhh, Baudelaire.)

Maggio Musicale

Just three names: Zubin Mehta, Peter Greenaway, and Charlotte Rampling. Of course, then there are the musicians, the vocalists, the whole thing that made up the opening night of the 71st Maggio Musicale on April 26th at the Teatro Comunale. It opened with an expected, but crowd pleasing, Haydn piece. Then the second, a Britten (Sinfonia da Requiem Op. 20) which blew me away. Especially the saxophone player. Superb. Finally followed by the not-so-expected Schönberg with Ms. Rampling reading a “Survivor from Warsaw” while Greenaway played as video-jockey with images from various human autrocities. Rampling’s powerful recital was what made it. Well, Zubin made it all happen for me. 

(I should interject here that I have a love-hate relationship with films by Greenaway. My father should remember torturing my wee brain with The Draughtman’s Contract. Yet watching Pillow Book as an adult, lovely—and death by ink, yummy.) 

So it started out a magical night. Well, there were some glitches in the magic. First, I keep hearing about the Florence audience and how they lack passion — perhaps that is true. The big problem was that Mehta was going to address the audience and his PA went out. Umm, hello? Kind of a big deal people. Regardless, a great prima volta for me. And the music was not over. The night ended with an intimate iPod concert for two featuring several gems from the 80s; dancing, loving the stirring-waking-effect of sound.

Beauty, experience, life; I’d almost forgotten what I was doing here. Thanks for bringing it all back.