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Saturday 18 October 1997

Back on my terrace at home in Spello, coolish and windy, before taking myself out to dinner at the Pinturicchio. It's about six p. m. and the sky is all pale blue and pink, the fields all dark green and golden tan —

Continuing Tuesday 14 on the train to Marino, I should mention, lest I forget her, the large-busted woman across from me with even larger thighs and the thick accent from some unusual part of Italy, so worried about the earthquake — that she hadn't been anywhere near — and yet who 20 years ago had been to Spello and known a woman Giuliana knew once, and was so very insistent on having of her news altho' Giuliana kept on repeating she'd lost touch with her — Thighs were so big I had to sit side-saddle. . . .)

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Met at station by Maria-Paola, climbed up and up, her at the wheel, to outwardly nondescript large cube of a house in the Alban Hills past an automobile-brief but pedestrian-long fabulous view of the Lago d'Albano — Castel Gandolfo down below across the lake; essentially dinner and to bed, although I played with Stolze, the large wise-eyed German shepherd; we played fetch-the‑pine-cone in the yard: you have to do it with two, he won't release the first.

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Page updated: 7 Dec 20