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.)
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!
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.
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)
was described
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
You sound happier and settled into your temp life . Lovely observant writing xxxx
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Thank you! And yes, ups and downs, but lots to be happy about.
What a lovely exchange you had with your husband prior to him taking this photo. Frances, you are beautiful.
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Thanks! Wasn’t that a nice response to my whingeing! 😉
Love this post!!!
Dottoressa
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xo
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.
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You know exactly what I mean! Yes!
yes a beautiful pic of you!
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Thank you!
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.
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It really is a musical language . . . and yes! so many irregular verbs (especially once you consider all the tenses and voices! yikes!
Brava on catching on to that difference between one noodle and many — we’ve heard the names so often as they’re used when pulled into English that it can be hard to relearn. . . (which also applies to those words we’ve heard with a soft “ch” when it should be hard — as in “pistacchio” and “bruschetta”!)
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.
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Thanks for this thoughtful response, Linda!
Your second paragraph has me chuckling a bit, because I remember when our oldest granddaughter was very young, I thought I could take her to Paris when she was six, and then of course that birthday came and went because she wasn’t ready — but thought she might be by 10, then 12 . . . and now it seems it might be a reality for her and I to do that trip next year (she’ll be 16!). Meanwhile, though, we’ve managed to share some parts of our travel with the g’kids (accompanied by their parents) over the years — sounds as if you might do that as well.
And your last paragraph — that would be a rich conversation! Completely and enthusiastically agree with your emphasis on our important it is for us as older women to claim the kind of beauty we have grown into — in all its diverse forms.
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.
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It was pretty romantic, wasn’t it?! (it hasn’t all been sweet romantic sailing on this trip, let’s be honest, but he really came through on this).
So interesting you’ve commented about in-jokes. She discovered this term not so long ago and immediately turned to me and gave me an example of one of ours. And of course, the other part of your comments, how much we lose when a loved one dies, all those parts of our selves, our memories, that will never again resonate the same way. No wonder our sense of self can take such a battering at this age, when we beginning losing more and more of those who held pieces of it in their memory. . . .
I don’t think I could carry them off, but I love those glasses on you – for what it’s worth.
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Thanks! I love them too!
Che bella che sei! (I think sometimes about the author of A Round-heeled Woman, who had never been told she was beautiful. Maybe we can talk about that one day.)
One of my favourite food-related expressions is ‘vestirsi a cipolla’ which refers to wearing layers but translates as dressing yourself like an onion. I learned it in conversation after I had a bit of a gripe about being cold all the time and wearing ‘una maglietta e una camicia e un maglione grande grande’ indoors. (Yes, I’m from Winnipeg, but spoiled by central heating!)
Oh, also, I think in English we refer to the cushioned ring we sit on when our nether regions are sore as a ‘doughnut’, no? Also a bit offputting, appetite-wise. 🙂
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We need those mirrors, don’t we? Others who can reflect our beauty to us when we can’t recognize it for ourselves. . . And yep, that would be a very good discussion.
And in one of those serendipitous coincidences, I just saw this expression on a notice-board at the swimming club where my granddaughter takes her lessons — no explanation given, or examples, obviously such a well-used phrase that it’s integrated as part of a common-sense approach to good health. (protection from the dangerous “colpi d’aria”! 😉
I’d forgotten that “doughnut” — post-labour way back in the day! 😂
Paul is right! That’s a lovely photo of you.
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Thanks!
Yes , beautiful & I’m including yours hands in that . The hands of a young woman , unlike mine . All my years of washing up – no dishwasher ever , then scrabbling about in garden soil , plus my impatience with gloves of any kind , well it really shows now . I have the hands of an old crone !
Wendy, in folklore and in astrological stuff (which I don’t believe in but I happened to read something about it), a woman who is a termed a crone is celebrated as being in the third stage of a woman’s life when she embodies feminine wisdom, strength and mature beauty. So those are your hands!
I prefer your definition of crone to the dictionary one 😊
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Yes!!
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So funny — it did strike me that my hands look surprisingly good in that photo — you can’t see the plethora of age spots across the back, nor the fact that some of my knuckles are swollen (a bit nervous about my wedding ring — thank goodness it was a size too large when we bought it, but there are days when I wouldn’t be able to remove it), my nails are strangely flat and ridged, and their “moons” never see the light of day ;-). . .
To be honest, though, I love the look of my old hands, and I bet I would love yours even more — so much history, so much use, love, practicality, work. . . Plus: Old Crones Rock! (An older friend of mine did her (feminist) M.A. thesis on the old crone in literature)
I think it’s all too easy to feel homely when in France and Italy. And there’s the fact that French and Italian women have a different body shape to us sturdy women of northern European extraction, which means that we’re never going to achieve that grace. Go to Sweden instead! (Although there you have to contend with blonde-ness and effortless outdoors-y elegance…) And like other readers I think you look beautiful.
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Luckily, it’s a passing phenomenon, this feeling, and I can get my perspective back after not too much grumbling and muttering 😉 Thank you!
Yes, what beautiful words. And to then capture the moment in that photo..so beautiful. (I also noticed how beautiful your hands are!)
Really enjoy those snippets from Rome, especially those quirky connections!
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So glad you’re enjoying the posts, Genevieve (currently arranging a meet-up with daughter and son-in-law tomorrow at the same spot where we exchanged stories and I got to look through your gorgeous sketchbook — how long ago was that? Seems like ages, but couldn’t reallly have been, could it!)
How long ago was that? It now seems like a lifetime ago. I’ve just looked it up and it was 78 days ago!
I so loved that meet up…one of my Roma highlights!
(And for the last month I’ve been yearning to do another big walk)
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Whoa! And we’re still here! Remember Paul sharing his theory, during that meet-up, about how doing challenging things helps to slow time down?
Wondering where you’re thinking of walking now (and aren’t you glad you got the VF done before next year’s Jubileum! I imagine the path will be much busier!)
I know this reply might not comply with the rules…I’m not meant to be doing this chain-thing, right?
Anyway, just quickly, yes, totally agree with Paul’s theory about that and the way that those challenges add depth and meaning to the whole experience. He (and you) totally understood how those challenges were often the things you’d look back on and laugh about down the track.
We’ve got some shorter walks on the agenda, keen to avoid the busier routes, so pleased to avoid crowded walks. Xx
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No rules, especially when we’re having an enjoyable chat 😉
Love all your insights!! All the Italian words and sights.. what a dear husband 😊he’s right of course… I think we all have similar feelings and it’s nice to have an outside source give us a new perspective..
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Thanks Deborah! I suspect you’re right, that this is a feeling many share occasionally and we’re lucky if we have someone show us another reflection of our selves when our Inner Critic gets mean 😉
I had already seen your photo of you and thought that it was a wonderful photo of you, so I wholeheartedly agree with your husband. And, yes, he deserves a donut.
What a wonderful stay you are having. I followed a lot on Instagram while I was away, but now I need to read some of your posts. Here’s to language and the way it weaves us through curious concepts.