I deliver the Marta pics to Roberta and she takes them out to Michela’s for the b-day party. This one actually kicked my ass. I had a set nearly done but Roberta was worried that my pencil line was perhaps too chunky and styly – she wanted softer edges, more idealized. I had to go back to the drawing board, as it were, and that added some hours, but in the end I feel good about how they came out. Hope Ania digs them- she’s a cool lady. L. and I join Josh and Audrey for some Tocati’ viewing, bump into Charlie who we have not seen in ages – ciao bello!

The Pack finally gets their first win against the Lions at Ford Field. It’s gonna be a long season, I fear. Trying to teach Catalina some English, I am writing out these simple dialogues in which I gripe about how crappy my team is this year. Poor kid is running the lavanderia totally solo while her mom is away. This kind of responsibility at 19, in a foreign country and with everything so up in the air. Can’t even imagine. We beg her to call us if we can help somehow- wish I could speak Italian better so as to convey how sincere we are about this.

September 2006 finishes out with some moody, rainy days. Fall’s gonna fall in, as I wrote in a song years ago.

We have a nice Italian lesson with our buddy Josh. Makes us feel better about our chances of one day navigating this language to a point of reasonable comfort, talking with him. Unlike linguistic whizzes like Peter, Audrey, or Roberta, Josh admits there is much he still does not comprehend about this crazily detailed language, but he has been here three years and can do just fine, can say what he needs to say and can understand what’s being said to him. Josh tells us he and Audrey’s roommate Vera and her ragazzo (?) Fabbio are working on the committee of this local event called Tocati’. They’ve held it the past four years, features an international line-up of “street games” and events held at locations all over Verona, free to view and with food and wine, of course. Will have to check it out.

We are invited to a dinner party at Renato and Mariella’s about which I am kind of nervous- all those people speaking Italian! It’s a tough crowd to make, you know? Anyway, gracious Mariella invites Christine along too, so we get all dolled up and head to Via Mameli. Turns out, we have a great time. Christine looks fabulous and does very well amongst the Italiani. Renato and I pull off a little impromptu jam with standup bass and acoustic guitar. There are seven or eight others there, men and women equally mixed, all of them well-spoken, friendly people, colleagues of Renato’s I gather. At times I feel like one or other of the ladies is rolling their eyes at Mariella as she holds forth; she’s such a kooky lady, but I totally dig her. Nice to show Christine a chunk of real Verona life.

At the entrance to Punto San Vigilio.

Christine & Steve at the entrance to Punto San Vigilio.

Christine & Lawren in Torre del Benaco.

From September 13th to September 18th we have Christine Crisler as our guest. She’s L. and my old boss, Richard’s, mom. We all worked together at Yo Wear Boxers back in dear old C’Ville. Christine is German, born and raised in Berlin. She remembers, as a child, cleaning the ruined streets of that city at the end of WWII. Every summer she spends time there with her sister and brother so she contacted us; it’s been years since she was in Italy.

Christine is an A+ guest. She just loves Verona and kind of gushes about it. The first night, we climb the stone stairs to Castel San Pietro where they’ve set up this swanky modern bar on a big deck overlooking the hills around Il Santuario. We get buzzed on Campari Sprizze as the sun sets. The weather is perfect and clear, the sky colors long lingering as lights blink from the cultivated, rolling hills. Later we eat at Molinara with my buddy from the palestra, “Signore Palestrato” (“Mr. Buff”) and his Mom who is German- she married an Italian man. She and Christine rap in German which is such a cool sounding tongue. We drink a bit too much wine….

We take Christine out to the terme’ at Cola which she loves. She and L. do some serious shopping- Christine is no joke on a shopping run, has great taste and is willing to drop some euro when the need arises. Meanwhile, I am working on my Marta portraits. I have three nice head-shots going, want to present a triptych of small pastel sketches.

Rosa, Catalina’s mom (of the “lavanderia ladies”) is in Moldavia/Moldova trying to arrange passage for her son Vasily. Impossible for us to imagine the life-stress of having to leave one’s home country and children behind. Rosa has two sons, in fact, Vasily and a younger whose name I don’t know. Catalina is the oldest child. The snooty Veronese gripe about immigrants wanting to grab a piece of the first world pie, as though someone would leave all they know and love for the sake of a shiny appliance. A better life is surely the goal, but you’d have to be badly placed to go to such lengths as Rosa has. Can’t we find it in ourselves to look with sympathy at the conditions world-wide which cause these desperate migrations, rather than revile people as greedy and parasitic? You can’t tell me that Rosa leeches off this system. She works her ass off and Catalina is paying for school.

Sure, there are bad examples; “the Moroccan” from Jan. 17th 2006, a drowning drunk and seemingly hopeless denizen of the street, or the crew that set up shop in Parco Delle Mura amongst the bushes, but guess what, there are bad Italians too! We have the same foolish struggle in US. Bottom line is, understanding, generosity of spirit, and human commonality are the only useful tools. Who’s gonna pay? How do we bridge these gaps in culture? What can we do day to day? I don’t know, but it’s got to be done somehow because the problem cannot be swept away, not in the new, wide open world. Hiding behind this hateful, small, “us and them” stance is foolish and destructive and will simply not serve.

Christina Crisler, our old boss Richard's Mom and a good friend from C-Ville, arrives tomorrow for a six day visit. She is summering in Berlin, has not visited Italy for more than twenty years. Mom is coming October 3 as well, so we are gearing up for a round of full house action. It's always a pleasure to show off this excellent little city, for which we are developing an almost proprietary regard.

Verona may not be a "destination" according to the guidebooks, but it's got everything you could want in a fine old Italian city and anyway, who needs all that tourist rabble tossing their gelato wrappers and brochures on the ground, jamming the vibe of the coolest spots with their flashbulbs and loud shirts? The Veronese are rubbing off on us- ten months here and we're already closed and crusty! I should point out that it's the Veronese who attribute these characteristics to themselves. L. and I, American pollyannas that we are, have found the Veronese to be a most gracious and charming group of people.

The less said about the headline for this entry, the better. Anyway, I'm trying not to use profanity in this blog. Suffice it to say, che cazzo è successo?!?

Early palestra session and post-workout lunch result in heavy afternoon nap. We must walk Kimba for Roberta, as we did in the AM. Strange, Michael is there, but I guess Roberta was dead-set against asking for his help. They are on some kind of marital drift these days, but we refuse to stand anywhere between them. One never knows what goes on between two people and you just can't take sides.

In the AM, after a pleasant dog walk, we head to the stadio flea market. We buy a giant container of olives at the Puglia stand, also marinated mushrooms, my personal favorite. Roberta's girlfriend from Milano is in town for the weekend. We see Roberta at the dog park in the afternoon and she asks us if we can walk Kimba tomorrow while she and her friend attend some kind of spooky psychotherapy group in Padova.

Apparently, the method involves acting out scenarios provided from the real lives of the participants. Everyone plays a part without knowing the full circumstances of the story; only the person who provided the scenario knows what went down. Somehow, the participants are supposed to channel the actual event, revealing something presumably deeper than could be otherwise accessed. Sounds like a bunch of hoo-ha to me.