If you’ve been following my Instagram account, you already know that we hopped from Bordeaux to a fishing village outside of Rome for the week, the main attraction being my daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter (not necessarily in that order — I mean, to be honest, our granddaughter is really delightful!).
As well, if you’ve been following my Instagram account you’ll already have seen some of these photos, and you’ll know they represent what we did on Wednesday (stayed local; walked past these gorgeous bottle-brush trees — callistemon — for example) instead of going into Rome as we’d planned. You’ll know that change took place because my granddaughter asked me sweetly at breakfast whether Granddad and I were coming to watch her at La Piscina after school.
A request, obviously, that trumped Rome easily. After all, that Pantheon’s been standing there for centuries and one more day of waiting for me won’t hurt it. . . .
So we stuck around the beach village, did some wandering and some eating and some photo-snapping. . .
Were we not traveling light (which I love for the convenience and ease, only very occasionally regretting), I’d be hauling back all kinds of Italy’s delicious ceramic offerings — such beautiful tableware was on display under our food at lunch. . .
I didn’t try to sketch the dinnerware, but I’d brought my sketchbook to lunch and my easy-going lunch companion didn’t seem to mind me pulling it out. I’d pre-painted three ovals, so that all I needed was my Micron pen. . .
As I was sketching the resident cat, I flashed back to a quick sketch I made of a more active feline back in Venice two years ago. . . Again, something about the process of observation involved in sketching really pulls together all the sensory impressions of that moment, more so, for me, than a photograph. . .
And this sketch of a re-purposed big tomato or olive oil can (at least 2 litres) might prompt me to copy the idea back in my kitchen as a way to bring some of my travels home. These cans were filled with a bottle of olive oil, one of balsamic vinegar, and salt and pepper shakers, and they arrived at the table along with a basket of fresh-baked bread.
And those packages of sugar, in all their delightful iterations, all of them evoking that particular shake to jostle the sugar back into place before ripping the paper and pouring the white stuff into that aromatic, rich brown liquor. . .
“Un gusto da sogno” — a taste of dreams, although many of us might doubt that coffee is a very quick way to Dreamland. . .
After that very satisfying and leisurely lunch, we walked back along the Lungomare (waterfront), ignored the detritus accumulating against the bank, and instead enjoyed the picturesque image of fishing boats against the blue sky and, further along, the three old fellows optimistically extending their long fishing rods into the turgid waters. They’re a standard feature of the landscape, and one of these days, if I can figure out how to do so discreetly, I’d love to sketch them.
On Wednesday, though, it was time to hurry home for the school pick-up with our daughter and head to the swimming pool. Lessons happen in a private club where the pool is in one of those big bubble tents and it was overheated and humid and, just as the Four had warned us, one of the instructors yelled and yelled and yelled. No matter. The thrill of watching our little girl valiantly swimming lengths, doing starfish floats, jumping off a (low) diving board and swimming from there. . . Priceless, as those Mastercard ads used to say. . .
(If you’re not Italian, or perhaps European, you might be interested to know that at the end of each lesson, all the kids get their hair shampooed and blow-dried by the instructors in an assembly-line approach. I suspect this has as much to do with an Italian (pan-European?) association of draft/breeze with illness as it does with a concern with “la bella figura” — whichever, my daughter has the benefit of knowing her daughter’s hair is washed twice weekly, without any parental coercion.)
We did make it into Rome yesterday, and I’ve got a post all lined up for you, up next. We’re missing the Celebration of Life for my beautiful nephew today, and as much as I’m feeling so very fortunate to be here with my granddaughter, daughter, and son-in-law, I’m torn about not being with family and friends as they honour Ryan’s life and hold space for Ryan’s wife and child, for his parents (my brother and sister-in-law) his brother (my nephew) and his brother’s partner to mourn and to remember and to learn to live without. . . My brother shared a beautiful essay this morning, on Facebook, about the expectation that one should get over the loss within a “reasonable” period, and the contrasting reality that the bereaved have to “remember while creating a new life.” . . And I’m thinking about that today, too too many miles away, hoping I can find little ways to help with that when I get back. Perhaps you might hold them in your thoughts today, even though you’ve never met.
xo,
f
Family ties are complicated, especially when stretched over such distances. Keeping Ryan's family in my thoughts.
As for your Four, my kid never got a blowdry after swim lessons here in France. First there was baby swimming, which meant parents had to wrangle small children while also changing themselves. Moms and dads and kids in the same changing room, the dad very proud (not always with reason) of their physiques…as in, they didn't go into the stalls to change. Of course, there were four stalls and about 20 parents with 20 kids. Later, the kids swam, but we parents had to be there to harp on them to hurry up already and get changed, and also to hold their clothes off the wet floor/wet benches/wet everything. Waiting for the one blower was too long, so my kid got to wear a thick knitted cap. This Roman set-up sounds très luxe.
Thank you — I imagine you know something about distance and family ties.
Your experience with kids' swim lessons in France is closer to mine in Canada, although we never had moms and dads in the same changing rooms. I never bothered with the hair dryer either!
It must be hard to be away for the memorial. And yet people have lives and these things happen and what I know about anything is that life provides many opportunities for forgiveness, of self and others. Love to you and to your family in their grief.
It's hard to miss out on the intense connection that happens at events like that, even aside from sharing the grief and honouring Ryan. At least my family is completely understanding about my absence. . . Thank you!
To my mind you were honouring the memory of your nephew by cherishing the time with your Rome family while thinking of those gathered at home to celebrate his life.
No hair washing/drying by swimming instructors in the UK! They would demand danger money. But wet hair and draughts were very much associated with illness in my youth. Shudder – the memories of school swimming lessons.
Thanks Linda. This is how I had to think of it as well.
I think I'm glad we never had school swimming lessons — we always did ours in summer, in an outdoor pool in the neighbourhood.
Your post is very poignant. Sharing the joys of spending time with family only seen occasionally, living a slow travel life and yet…feeling the loss of one who died too young and feeling, too, the distance that separates you from those you only wish to hug and hold on this difficult day.
Lifting you and the family up today in remembrance.
Thank you Mary. You understand. . .
Holding you and all your family in my thoughts today, Frances. "Making space for them" as you say. xo
Thanks, Sue. And thanks for your recent post on the subject of what to say to someone grieving. . .
I meant to say, Frances, that your sketches with their colour wash remind me very much of the 'shops' illustrations by Eric Ravilious. Do a search on those terms to see what I mean. It's a compliment – he is one of my favourite artists!
Wow! Thank you! I know some of Ravilious's work (landscapes), but hadn't seen the shops illustrations. Mine don't really bear the comparison, but it's very flattering and looking at what he does with the colour wash over a sketch is really inspiring.
I am holding Ryan in my thoughts today (though this post is a couple of days old. I hope you are having a beautiful day, and celebrating yourself as a truly wonderful mother.
Thanks, Alison! We've had a very good day here in Fiumicino, the end of a week of lovely days. . .
May your nephew's memory be for a blessing. Your brother's words are spot on, I think, about bereavement and moving on with a new way of living without a loved one. It's not black or white, is it? We can be heartbroken and striving to live whole-heartedly again all at the same time.
P.S. I love the pre-painted color wash shapes idea. May I borrow it for my sketching?
I wasn't clear enough: the words aren't my brother's but ones he shared on Facebook from an essay he'd found.
And of course you may borrow this idea. I borrowed it from @caobecky on Instagram–you should check out her account; I think you'll find inspiration there.