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.)

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