Halloween night, Giorgio and Roberta come to the Bixio to hang out. We don’t do anything spooky since it’s pretty much just another night here in Italy. Roberta says, in recent years, Italians have picked up a little of the Halloween vibe, copying we Americans I suppose, but it hasn’t really caught on. There was a smattering of merchandise in Migross and a couple of DJ parties with Halloween themes advertised, but nothing like we do back in the States. Sometimes I miss the old U S and A. Cool thing though – Giorgio buys my Gum Ponte Pietra pastel, an unsolicited sale. Price I asked was way too low but you know what? I’m a sucky salesman. I just wanted the guy to have my work and that’s that.

We take the bus out to Corso Milano for our first visit to Rosa and Catalina’s place. Mom has suggested a design school in Bournemouth, England as a possibility for Catalina, who aspires to work in the fashion biz. She’s really a talented kid and we’d love to help her get in somehow. Mom knows a fellow on the board there, so maybe we can hook her up. Rosa’s place is tiny but clean and well situated on a block of apartments off the main road. They have a cute kitty named Ginger.

We enter into an impassioned discussion of economic relativity. Rosa tells us how, in Moldavia, there are beautiful farms, black soil and delicious meat. You can eat well, but no one has a cent since the collapse of the Soviet Union. Rosa’s ex-husband was a civic mucky-muck of some standing in their town, but the family went bankrupt after the collapse. She actually despises Gorbachev, asserts that if he were in the room with us right now, she’d cut him in pieces and put him in the pasta. She holds up her wine glass (she’s just a tad flushed) and says, in Italian, that to make this glass takes time and care but to break it (and she gestures as if to drop it on the floor) is a cinch.

I am working on a baby portrait for a friend of Roberta’s, another installment of the Italian lesson barter. Have finished several of these new SLM Comics graphite drawings but am not satisfied with all. They seem a little tight to me, like I’m working too small or something. Playing the NFL Pool with Kent Fleury’s internet group – almost won this week. You have to make five correct picks and I got four, losing with Karmic inevitably on my win pick of the hated Dallas Cowboys. Leslie wants me to do a Gum City style pic of the Veneto Lion in a dual pose, two lions, two moods….interesting. Will get to work on that ASAP.

Carabinieri guarding ‘Il Papa’

The Popemobile.

On that note, Steve and I think America needs a big time Hollywood movie about Pope John Paul II. Robin Williams definitely would be cast as the Pope, maybe Adam Sandler as a young Ratzinger, and we still need someone to play the conservative Nigerian cardinal (Pope runner-up).

We visit Santa Maria in Organo for the first time. It’s a humble but lovely church on ancient Roman grounds where they are giving a Mozart concert on the grand, gilt-covered organ. We go with Roberta, her friend Louisa who informed us of this event, and Michael. At the concert’s end, we are treated to some incredible art. There are dozens of wood-inlay panels [L. note: they are called tarsie] behind the altar and in the sacristy, created by a Renaissance friar. It’s one of the coolest things we’ve seen in Italy so far. This friar was a genius! The panels are imagistic, with themes ranging from the natural to the historical and with lots of perspective studies and geometric still-lives. He’s never heavily religious in his themes, for example there’s only one crucifixion scene while there’s a dozen or more animal studies. His aesthetic aims seem to have revolved around the idea of seeking enlightenment through knowledge of the empirical world, a refreshing break from the usual heavy-handed superstitious wallow one encounters in so many Italian chiese.

We strike up a chat with an older fellow who is going kooky over the sacristy panels. His name is Giorgio. We decide to grab a prosecco. Giorgio was in a horrible accident in which his bicycle collided with a speeding car, nearly killing him. He was in a coma for 16 days. As we get up to leave, he insists on paying but he can’t find his cash. I think he’s a touch addled, poor guy. The owner of the bar, a great looking, dark-eyed fellow with a craggy mug like a Hollywood gangster but with a body slim as a boy, would rather take an IOU than deal with a credit card, even though they have the machine to do the transaction. He doesn’t want to pay the service charge. He tells Giorgio, in Italian, “I’m a Neapolitan – we have big hearts.”

We have a mellow last day. Of course we have to turn Mom on to Caffe Dalla Rosa on Piazza Vittorio Veneto where you get the buon brioche. Tonight, we are to have dinner with Renato and Mariella. A fun time. We get into the inevitable political discussion and Mom declares with quiet conviction the she is “of the Left” as the Italians say it. We disagree on many things but maintain a fine and respectful level of discourse. L. and I just love those guys. They’ve been so kind to us. Mom was charming, of course and it was a nice way to wind up her Verona sojourn. On the 16th we drive her out to Catullo, stopping off at the lavanderia on the way to see if Rosa’s back from Moldavia yet. Great news – she’s back! The bummer is, she wasn’t able to bring her son. From what I gather, she would have had to pay “the Mafia” to help get him out of country and she couldn’t meet the price. How messed up is that? We will get back together with her and Catalina for our lessons, seems the only thing we can contribute other than concern and best wishes at this point.

In navigating airports these days, Mom needs a wheelchair and attendant due to her health issues. This always makes me a little sad and angry at the fates. She has tears in her eyes as they wheel her into the terminal and I can only think how precious this person is to me and how I would be at her side looking out for her every minute of the day if possible. Was wonderful to have her and we will be seeing each other inside of two months.

We take Mom to our favorite recreational spot, the terme’ at Cola’. I am reading The Twelve Caesars on the lawn chair, blissfully sacked out by my swim in the warm bath. Mom loves it, feels a great release of the discomfort in her left shoulder when submerged in that glorious water. We have coffee at Punta San Vigilio, stroll around Torre del Benaco and later, back in Verona, Mom takes us out to a great meal at La Vecchia Fontanina, which was recommended to her by family friend
Kate Kessler. We’ve never been here, but have passed by many times- it’s near the old Roman Dogana (customs house). The Kesslers came to Verona just before we moved here, had a great time they said.

We rent a car and do a Veneto giro. First, to Soave where there is a chocolate festival (Mom buys a chocolate plumber’s wrench for Don MacGlashen) and then on to Vicenza. We stumble on a large international show of children’s book illustrators in the lower gallery space of Palladio’s Basilica. Very inspiring- gets Mom and I talking about our Harriet “fish hat” idea. My little niece Harriet has this incredible fish-shaped hat which we want to use as the pivot for a kid’s book. Mom sent me a ton of photos of her posing in this hat- must do some sketches. Ted can write up the story, perhaps?

We take Mom to Venice for the day and have a wonderful time. The weather is perfect. First, we hook up with P. and a friend on Campo San Margherita, where L. and I stayed back in ’01. P.’s friend is a French girl named Sandra who speaks English well and is very sweet. She seems a little flustered by P., possibly wants to escape for an hour or two, so she comes along with us to the home of Peggy Guggenheim where those Abstract Expressionist giants are looking pretty dusty and dank to my eye. We have ciccetti at the place we came to with the California Inghams at Ben’s recommendation, Aciughetta. Sandra is on the phone with P. half the time —he’s sweating her about something, a communications mix-up, no doubt. I note that Mom seems a touch fascinated by the man. Indeed, he is a character worthy of the cinema, if maddening at times. We just miss the 8:30 train, get home to poor little Mary super-late.

We have a long, relaxing dog walk Lungadige with warm sun and a great crowd of strollers. We bump into Roberta and invite her for dinner and a lezione.