The Giro d'Italia bicycle race came through Pietrasanta on Wednesday. There was much pre-race excitement -- headlines in the newspapers and discussions in the pub, streets closed, signs everywhere -- and everyone told us we should be sure to go see it. 

So we did. We parked the car in town and walked over to the edge of town near the big supermarket to be right on the Via Aurelia when the bicycles went by. We got there a bit early in case there were crowds.

It lasted literally less than a minute.

Luciana reports that someone else is living in our old house now and, although she has seen them at a distance once or twice, she has not actually met them. I thought I would be sadder about leaving that house than it turns out that I am. My boys never lived there with me, so it is just a house, no matter how beautiful.

The other house was dominated by the woods and the gardens and terraces and by the house itself with its secrets and its magic. Here, the new house is dominated by the enveloping view of the sea and, most of all, by the sky. Jonathan and I call out to each other, again and again, from wherever we are in the house, "Look at the sky! Look at the sky!"

I am spending my days doing little things to prepare for my book launch -- trying to lay the groundwork for getting some publicity, building my "brand," which is what everyone must have these days, they say. Up until now, my brand has been "old lady farting around in Italy while eating too much and drinking wine," but that won't cut it anymore, they say. I have to actively engage with an enthusiastic reader base, they say. I must flog the merch, they say.

William Faulkner never had to prostrate himself to the malevolent gods of social media, I say.

You're no William Faulkner, they say.

 

If there is a person who holds our fragile world here together, it is Alice. She organizes people to go see Nonno in the nursing home. She gives us rides in her car. She introduces strangers to each other. She sets up people with jobs, functioning as an employment agency, and finds houses for them to rent, an  informal real estate agency. When Mattia shows up later today to mow our lawn, it will be because Alice set it up. She is kind and smart and funny. The single funniest line in my new manuscript wasn't invented by me, but was said by her (called Celeste in the book): 

Two days ago at The Lark, I was talking to Celeste about my new book that will be coming out this summer. We will have a reading there in June to celebrate its appearance. I said that Trespolo is a wonderful place to write – always tranquil, always calm.

            “Yes,” Celeste said, deadpan. “Just like in The Shining.”