“Il dolore del dollaro”….it means “the pain of the dollar” and it’s what we’re feeling worse than ever these days. Walking to class this AM, the tension creeps into our conversation and sets off one of those marital spats where the real problem is the situation we’re in, not each other. We really couldn’t have moved to Italy at a worse time, with inflation soaring and the dollar tumbling, markets flabby and decent jobs scarce. We’re just so fortunate that Lawren’s finding work, otherwise we’d have to pack up and head back home. Of course, I could take it upon myself to go out into the market and get myself hired. My Italian is good enough at this point. I’d have to kind of postpone my dream of working only on my art and, at 37, how many more postponements will I get? On the other hand, pretty much nobody wants to pay me for my pictures. I help Lawren with her stuff, providing bits of illustration and logo ideas and everyone loves my free art cards, but my phone is cold these days.

Back in old D.C., USA, our selfish, arrogant leadership couldn’t give a tinker’s damn what the weak dollar does to world markets, or how the American diaspora are getting their asses kicked, or how, for example, the tourism industry here in old Italia is struggling. It’s clear to me, and pardon the conspiracy theory tone, that somebody with the inclination and ability to muster Republican votes is getting rich off the weak dollar, so it’s Bush’s policy to “stay the course” with our lame currency despite the mounting absurdity of the situation.

What a shame, though, that it should get at us like this, right in front of the beautiful doors of Sant’ Eufemia. We yell at each other on the street and startle the sweet and friendly Sri Lankan fellow who cleans the church. Manage to rally and have a good class anyway. Now I must be extra nice to the Sri Lankan so he doesn’t think I’m some cattivo Americano.

I go to class alone this AM as poor Lawren is stuck in dead-line mode and cannot escape her desk. Must say I really love these classes. The teacher, whose name I could not summon in my post from January, is Daniela Maturi and she rocks. Great politics, firm skills, and a pleasant manner. Feels so nice sitting here, listening and doodling, checking out all the kids. The sense of accomplishment returning home afterwards is palpable. You feel like you did the right thing with your time.

Could it be that I miss school? It certainly is a helluva lot easier than life. School was great for framing one’s days, for setting rhythms and limits. At this point in my life and career, I wake on any given day to a blank slate, must carve out my agenda for myself by myself, must establish some arc of inspiration to fulfill the brief I’ve been given without supervision. There are gigs and deadlines to be sure but I set my own hours as does Lawren. We both struggle with this at times.

There was something so warmly encircling about that winter bus ride to Vatex, the screen printing factory in Richmond where I worked for almost two years. I’d leave the cold morning air for the workshop bustle, the time clock and coffee, the radio babble. You were there, you were signed in and stuck, but you knew it was possible to focus on your tasks and grind through the hours. At day’s end you’d have more paid hours in the books and it wouldn’t matter what you actually did. You’d be tired and hungry and back at the house and the next morning the whole process would repeat itself.

Before I lose myself in joe-job nostalgia, I should say that I wouldn’t change out our current situation for anything. We’re so lucky to be able to focus on our own work. We work together every day and manage to get along pretty well, plus we can keep Mary company. It’s a good setup.

We have a pretty triumphant return to the sprawling Borgo Roma HQ of Scala Colore, the collettivo of artists and designers. Our page for the Verona rock band calender went over well and we brought Fedino a fine gift from the States. There’s this great little company in C’Ville to which we were hipped by Collette. They make replicas of hunting trophies out of scored and flattened sheets of cardboard which you assemble yourself and hang on the wall. Totally figo. The company is called, aptly, Cardboard Safari. We got the Deer With Antlers trophy for Fedino and the boys; they totally dig it.

I wrote on the blog about our last meeting back in December, a five or six hour affair. We were discussing proposals for the theme of our group show in June, everybody talking at once and loudly, joking around, and showing general disregard for orderly process. Tonight is no different, in fact I’d say we are even less focused than before. Vera, Josh and Audrey’s ex-roomate and a very sharp person, is there. It was through her we entered Scala Colore. She’s a charter member of the group and has a ton of good ideas to contribute but her voice is too soft for this crowd and she keeps getting bowled over.

Tonight we are dealing with the bureaucracy of forming an associazione. You declare yourself to the city, get your number for the “Partita IVA” tax, and collect some dues money from the members. This in turn gives you access to community resources, will help with publicity and generally serve to legitimize the group. The Italians go ’round and ’round, hashing out this idea. I am sketching the whole time. Fun at moments, this meeting, but we don’t get back home ’til almost 2:00!

Lawren and I don’t do much for Valentine’s Day. We had Roberta over last night for an Italian lesson and drank a little wine, now we feel kind of spent and grumpy. There is a festa in Piazza Dei Signori but it just makes us want to weep, these desperate merchants trying to unload their well-made, fun, and totally un-essential wares on a broke public. Everyone has their booth, their display area, their goods and energies, but folks can’t even afford mozzarella, how are they gonna buy some hand-carved wood figurine or a fancy kitchen appliance?

I have our little flat-screen TV in the kitchen, keeping me company while I make dinner. So sad, there is no “Affari Tuoi” at the moment. Instead, they have this “What’s My Line?” type show where the player is presented with a list of occupations and an equal number of people. The player must match them up one by one and it’s a tough nut to make. The host, after working out with the player his choice for that particular round, dramatically asks the mystery worker (using the polite “lei”) something like, “Signore Fusino, e lei chi fa mortadella?” (“Is it you who produces mortadella?”), to which the mystery worker replies, seemingly 85% of the time, “No, non sono io chi fa mortadella.” So depressing! They never seem to win….so we call the show, “Non Sono Io.”

Lawren is very busy these days with Stateside work, thank goodness since the world at large has forgotten me and my supposed talents. Seems I couldn’t make a dime off my drawing if my life depended on it! Anyway, it’s only right that I take on more of a household ruolo while L.’s bringin’ in the bacon, so I spend a fair chunk of my time with dog, food, and clean-up duties.

Three sunny days in a row! We take Mary for a long walk, first to Parco Delle Mura where there is Mary’s beloved cerchio di gomma (an old car tire which I roll down the hill for her to chase and chew). Che divertimento! Always makes us laugh, Mary’s display of passive resistance when we come to put her back on the leash for the return home.

We giro around Centro Storico, looking for stationary supplies, stop into San Stefano and the far grander Sant’ Anastasia which is still half-covered in restoration scaffolding. We groove on a video presentation of Pisanello’s St. George fresco. They have a huge, flat screen TV showing close-up details of the composition, a cool service since one may only view the piece from 50 feet below the chapel arch it adorns.

It’s really a fine feeling to get into the churches for free. You tell them you’re a resident of Verona, in Italian of course, and they wave you on through.

I have made a mention or two of the toxic political climate here in Italy but have spent little time on the subject of my own country’s eminent regime change.

Had Prodi’s government not fallen, there would be no Italian elections, but as it happened I must now sort out two countries worth of chucklehead politicians. Of the Italian candidates more later; first to events a casa nostra.

We have a deflated Republican party staggering into the inglorious tail end of the “Reagan Revolution”. And what a revolution it was! The rich got really really rich, we’ve managed to maintain a perpetual state of war to the benefit of the weapons industry, we’ve slashed public programs to the bone while busting the budget, and we’ve got a right-wing Supreme Court which, despite protestations to the contrary, is more than willing to toss judicial precedent to the side for the sake of ideology. We’re deep in a recession, a fact which every actual American person has known for months if not years while these chattering party wonks of the Bush Apology Corps keep going on about fundamental soundness and percentages of percentages. As to “The Surge”, don’t even get me started.

So who are the candidates for this sorry faction? There is Mitt Romney, the flip-flopping corporate self-help guru and un-repentant Mormon; Giuliani, the strong-arm “hero” of 9/11 and one of the least likable people in politics; some quack Bible-thumper named Huckabee who proudly proclaimed his belief in a 6,000 year old Earth during a Republican debate; and who could forget the straight-talker McCain with his wink and a smootch for Bush even after the latter shamelessly smeared him during the 2000 primaries?

They all really dig Bush’s tax cuts, Bush’s torture policy, Bush’s war, Bush’s do-nothing style of gov’t management. They just don’t want to ever speak his name or be seen with him.

On the Democratic side, we have three good candidates and a mountain of cash. There is record turnout of Democratic voters and a pretty clear, “throw the bums out” feeling among the electorate. Without a doubt the Democrats will firm up their majority in Congress.

Hillary Clinton is like the killer queen of the un-dead in a Republican’s zombie nightmare. Imagine her and Bill back in la Casa Bianca! It would almost certainly be a two-term affair since they’d do a good job of running the country and oh, what depths of blind fuming rage and frustration for right-wingers everywhere! Obama is cool if a bit surface. He speaks beautifully and his message is fine if maybe un-honed as yet. Hillary is very thorough and serious about how she would craft and implement policy while Obama occupies a loftier level of discourse. Edwards is the re-tooled populist, a good enough guy and an important third voice to challenge the superstar front-runners, but I just can’t stand that Carolina accent of his, sorry to say. Does this make me a Northeastern elitist?

Anyway, we’d better kick butt or I quit. The U.S. can’t take another four years of Republican leadership.

Terrible weather here in Verona. Man, I miss the winters of my Wisconsin childhood! Dense, low-riding clouds like clots of stuffing pulled from a split cushion would crowd the sky, bringing blizzards. We’d all hunker down in the warm, lamplit house as the wind whipped up the frozen precipitation, waking to a sparkling, sunny world carpeted in smooth white. There was a breadth and clarity in that cloudless blue sky. You’d feel the clean air on your face pushed inland from the frozen expanse of Lake Michigan, an exhalation brittle and bracing, carrying with it a certain hush. Made me want to run full tilt till my lungs split, spoiling every perfect drift of fresh snow with my thick winter boots. Made me want to shout as if no one in the whole world could hear me, as if I was the only beating heart lost in the whiteness.

But this murky, grey, pissing weather of Verona winter, this dank mix of carbon monoxide, fog, and agro-industrial exhale….it’s really starting to bring me down! Walking Mary lungAdige I am just appalled by the piles upon piles of soggy dogshit left alongside the walkway, want to grab the Italians and just shake them. Clean up after your dogs! And bring me some sunshine!