Of doughnuts and light and connections (in Rome)

I’ve been told that one of my strengths is noticing, observing. And I’ve also heard that I am good at making connections, synthesizing. Sometimes doing so with seemingly disparate objects, often across distant fields. There have been indications that these abilities or tendencies can be irritating (maybe particularly so when I have a camera at hand and we’re trying to get somewhere quickly; also when I’m hypothesizing that A is like Z squared and my interlocutor is, like, Huh?!).

But this is, after all, my blog, and I think I’m going to lean into some idiosyncrasies more regularly here and see what happens.

Today I’m going to share some quirkiness I’ve observed recently in the rich flexibility of an Italian word . . . And because my observations so delighted me, I’m accompanying the post with a little photo narrative of what else has been delighting me here, lately. (you might also be interested to know that we had a busy and gratifying week with our son, daughter-in-law, a Nine and a Six staying with us here in Rome, but that week refuses to curl itself into the confines of a single blogpost.)

We moved to the smaller bedroom while the kids were here, so I got a chance to see how the sunlight falls across the old wooden door, the floor (and yes, to notice that some dusting is in order.)

The word that’s been popping out at me from strangely different contexts here recently is the Italian word for doughnut: ciambella. It’s a word I’ve known for some time (anyone who’s taken an Italian lesson or two knows you don’t study the language long before you’re talking about food, learning that lexicon). But what was it doing on the underside of a toilet seat, said toilet seat resting in vertical position against the cistern?

“Abbassare la ciambella” was the instruction on that toilet seat—on that doughnut, I might say if it weren’t an egregious image for all the conventional doughnut-lovers out there. Of whom my husband is definitely one. So much so that when I texted my former Italian teacher (now friend) about this new use of the word, I joked that I could use the phrase to make sure Paul’s cholesterol numbers stay on the healthy zone. Abbassare la ciambella! Put down that doughnut! G texted back, laughing, but cautioned that if I used the word that way, it would be more like saying “Down with Doughnuts!” And I could never Boo the doughnuts while I live with this guy!

The evening light through the bathroom curtains, the decorative ironwork…

A few days later, reading another book in Antonio Manzini’s Rocco Schiavone detective series, I found another use of the word, the noun stretched into a past participle used as an adjective to describe Rocco’s dog, Lupa (a rare Saint-Rhemy-en-Ardennes): Lupa is acciambellata. You can guess the meaning, perhaps, especially if you know Lupa likes to sleep in a corner in Rocco’s office…yes, curled up like a doughnut!

While I’m noticing this word usage, I’m not eating any doughnuts (although I’ve managed a few taralli, a savoury snack enjoyed as aperitivo, also circular, but not quite closed). Back in August, though, I acquainted myself quite happily (if messily — see this IG post) with the maritozzi at Pasticceria Gruè, just down the street. Then two weeks ago, I introduced a daughter and granddaughter to the (non-doughnut) treat.

The afternoon rays of the autumn sun falling on the grass through the trees in the Borghese Gardens — delight abounds! (or De Light Abounds)

Yesterday morning, after she slept over at our place, we took the Roman granddaughter to do that same taste test. She approved of the first few bites, was quite content with the whipped cream ending up on her nose, but found it too rich to finish. Ha ragione (she’s right), but I managed mine right to the last bite.

After which, we all headed off through the Borghese Gardens to ETRU, the National Etruscan Museum at Villa Giulia (yes, if you’ve been following my Instagram posts, you’ll know that Paul and I were just there but we didn’t have enough time and had resolved to get back). I’d suggested the visit tentatively, thinking it might not appeal to a Ten on a school break, but she was surprisingly enthusiastic.

We followed our usual rules for taking kids to museums and art galleries — they get to set the pace and when they say they’ve had enough, we leave. In this case, though, we were astonished to see the attention and curiosity she brought to each exhibit, and to hear the observations she made, the questions she asked. In fact, I could easily fill another post with photos and anecdotes drawn from the time we spent there (well over an hour, and she would have stayed longer except for a swimming lesson later in the afternoon).

Apropos to this post, however, is that I had been telling her earlier about the link between a doughnut and a toilet seat (yep, caused her to put down her food for a few seconds). So that when we saw that this Etruscan vase (askos)

Not my photo; I found it here

was described

Note # 13: (Vaso (askòs) a ciambella

we were tickled. Okay, I probably nerded out on this way more than she did, but she played along like a good sport 😉 — Truth be told, she was much more excited about some of the jewelry and also keen on spotting decorative handles shaped like gymnasts. Thoroughly disgusted by the Sniffing Tube that allowed visitors to sample the perfume that would have been carried in the many balsamaria displayed (“it smells like saliva, Gross!”).

Okay, that concludes today’s wander through my recent preoccupation with the Italian language. Two more images of “things that delight me lately,” and I’ll sign off. First, below, not a doughnut but a lemon tart we split and enjoyed with afternoon espressos a few days ago, respite at Kilometre 10 before tackling the last two kilometres on our way home. . . A sweet pick-me-up (which would make it a different iteration of tiramisu, in linguistic spirit, at least), especially plated so prettily. . .

The last image I blush a bit to share. Why? Because it was taken by my husband not long after (perhaps while) I was complaining about looking and/or feeling old and homely and having brought all the wrong clothes (or just not enough!) and whine, whine, whine. He listened without much comment, and then said, “I think you look beautiful right now, just as you are, and I’m sending you a photo to show you what I see.”

I think he deserves a doughnut, don(u)t you? (okay, that was a Nana joke; evidently they can be at least as corny / hokey as dad jokes).

And that is all for now.

Comments welcome, as always. Thoughts about words, connections, how the light gets in. Whatever you have to say about Etruscan vases or perfume, grandkids and thoughtful husbands and feeling old and homely. All of the above.

xo,

f

9 Comments

  1. Lib572
    31 October 2024 / 10:45 am

    You sound happier and settled into your temp life . Lovely observant writing xxxx

  2. 31 October 2024 / 11:00 am

    What a lovely exchange you had with your husband prior to him taking this photo. Frances, you are beautiful.

  3. Dottoressa
    31 October 2024 / 11:12 am

    Love this post!!!
    Dottoressa

  4. Annie
    31 October 2024 / 11:27 am

    Yes to the ephemeral connections that crop up when you start to notice them. So ephemeral that I can’t recall any off the cuff. But they happen all the time. Never noticed them when I was younger but age slows things down a couple of notches so you have time to observe the world working. The bigger world, not simply the sliver in which you exist.

  5. Rose
    31 October 2024 / 11:32 am

    yes a beautiful pic of you!

  6. Maria
    31 October 2024 / 11:54 am

    What a lovely time you’re having. Thank you for your insights into the quirks of the Italian language. As I previously mentioned, I prefer maritozzi to ciambelle. Nevertheless, I appreciated learning about the many kinds of ciambelle that exist in Italian. I’ve been loving my Italian language classes this year and I’m equally impressed by the ease and musicality of spoken Italian and the irregularity of many verbs. I think my favourite insight has been to finally understand the difference between lasagna (singular) and lasagne (plural)!
    Light is like water, it will always find a way in. I recently began a short online course about colour and art, and this week we looked at the relationship between the scientific understanding of the properties of colour and light, and the ways artists use colour in their artwork. That’s a gorgeous photo of you, by the way.

  7. Linda B
    31 October 2024 / 12:07 pm

    How I love getting these generous “slice of life” posts that you share with your readers! I love that your son’s family joined you for a holiday, and of course the descriptions of being with your Roman granddaughter for an excursion to eat pastries and go to the museum were also rich.

    I wonder if I will ever have the opportunity to travel abroad with my granddaughters; they are too little now to get serious about that prospect. Some day, my son, his wife and their daughter (now 9 months old) will travel to China, her home country, along with the daughter-in-law’s parents–the three of them emigrated to the U.S. and became citizens a few decades ago. I think we have been invited to travel with them. . .at least in theory!

    Lastly, I have to say that you are so beautiful in that picture and in the many photos you have shared over time as well. If you and I were sitting down to have some coffee or tea, and maybe a delicious treat, we would have a big conversation about this topic. But here, I will just say that I think it is important for us older women to claim the very different kind of beauty that the wisdom gained through our years of living lends to our faces. I know that is not generally recognized in our culture; we have to own it for ourselves, if we can.

  8. 31 October 2024 / 3:22 pm

    That Is a beautiful photo, Frances. And how wonderful, and romantic, of Paul. I am impressed that he said that, and that he could actually take the photo and was able to send it. Something Stu has not yet mastered. Not even close, actually.
    I’ll bet that doughnut joke will be one of your granddaughter’s fond memories of her time with you. Mum and I had lots of those small in-jokes. And now that she’s gone I have no one to share them with.

  9. Jeannine
    31 October 2024 / 4:06 pm

    I don’t think I could carry them off, but I love those glasses on you – for what it’s worth.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Copyright

Unless otherwise stated, all words and photographs in this blog are my own. If you wish to use any of them, please give me credit for my work. And it should go without saying, but apparently needs to be said: Do not publish entire posts as your own. I will take the necessary action to stop such theft. Thanks.