The ice cream store at the beach has permanently closed. It had been there for 90 years, but over the winter the family who ran it decided they were done and so it sits empty now. I had become addicted to the Apple-Cinnamon gelato and doubt that I will ever taste its like again. Fortunately, in an act of what now appears to be great prescience (but wasn't really), I gorged myself on it last summer. Everyone says that there are plenty of other gelaterie around, and that is true. But it is also true that there will never be another one like that.

Even though we are in mourning, Jonathan and I are helping out every weekend at the pub, doing the bills and waiting for Alice's baby to be born. When that happens, we will work every night for a while. We do this surrounded by our friends who could be sitting out on the cool terrace, but decided to come in to be with us so that we won't be lonely. It is sweltering inside, but they are kind and lovely friends. They speak to us in Italian while we are adding numbers in our heads in English, making it impossible for me to either speak or add correctly and demonstrating beyond any doubt, because he can do both simultaneously, that Jonathan is a goddamn genius.

At the house, both the olives and the grapes are coming along nicely despite the heat. The olives are the size of small peas now. The grapes are a little bigger. Jonathan and I live very sedately in front of the fans, drinking ice water and not doing much else. In the mornings, we often go to the beach. Little kids build sand castles with buckets or play with beach balls at the edge of the surf. 

Yesterday, on a whim, Jonathan and I decided to go see if the gelato store at the beach was still open. The beach clubs are all closed now and the striped umbrellas and beach chairs have all been put away for the winter. The sand is empty. But, miraculously, the gelato store was open even though no one was in it and the owner was sitting on a chair out front under the awning watching the white geese in the park quack at each other and the misty rain fall. We chatted with him a bit and he told us that today would be their last day of the season and then they would close up until next spring. "So come by tomorrow," he said, "and get something to keep in your freezer."

So today we went down and bought two big tubs of gelato to put in our freezer and eat this winter while we dream of hot sand and cool ocean water and sunshine. And then his wife (we don't know their names -- yet) said to us, "Would another container fit in your freezer?" And they gave us as a gift another giant container of gelato and a bunch of cookies -- the kind that I always associate with gelato on the Riviera. The white geese came up almost right into the store while this was going on, honking and looking around. There are no tourist crowds these days to shoo them away.

These are the six flavors of gelato we got:

1. Mango (mango), 2. Frutti di Bosco (blackberry, raspberry and blueberry, mixed), 3. Caramello Saltato (salted caramel), 4. Cioccolato (chocolate), 5. Pompelmo e Campari (grapefruit and Campari), and 6. Limone, Salvia e Menta (lemon, sage and mint). They did not have my favorite Cinnamon Apple today, but that gives me something to look forward to next summer. We brought them home and took all the ice cubes out of the freezer so that we could fit the containers in. 

Sometimes, it seems like Jonathan and I have behaved in a very rash and foolhardy manner by moving to Italy on a whim like we did, instead of acting sensibly, with forethought and prudence. And so we keep expecting one day to get our comeuppance. We keep expecting to have to pay the price for our recklessness. So far, though, for at least today, the comeuppance seems to mostly have taken the form of free ice cream and cookies. I've had worse comeuppances, quite frankly.

The Trofeo del Leone is happening this week and we went Tuesday evening to watch a couple of the games and eat grilled sausage sandwiches and hang out in the cool night air with our friends. There was a horse and a pony for pony rides and much excitement because the soccer field here in lovely Capriglia-by-the-Sea is less than half-sized (the steepness of the mountain slope making big flat places nonexistent up here) and so the players kept inadvertently kicking the ball into the spectators or even into the people who were not really watching the game, but were instead standing chatting to their friends or quietly guzzling inexpensive prosecco out of plastic cups until they were blind-sided by an incoming soccer ball to the head.

The teams themselves were made up of players of varying ages and abilities and although Daniele was the coach of one of the teams and although the teams had names like "The Drinking Monkeys," I didn't know any of the good players. It is possible that there is a connection between being able to run around with agility on a soccer field and not spending all day drinking in the pub. That might explain why the good players were unknown to me. Just a thought.

There were children and lemonade and laughter and bright stars slowly making their way across the summer night sky. But there was also the moment of silence at the beginning of each game when we bowed our heads and remembered Leonardo. And at one point, I noticed Geppolino, Leonardo's increasingly frail father, standing by himself looking lost, all alone in the crowd.

Today it is raining and the forecast is for rain most days all next week. Jonathan and I went down for one last ice cream at the beach yesterday afternoon. I have put the comforters back onto our bed. Summer seems to be over.

We are in the last days of summer now. It is meltingly hot and the meagre charm of the katydid chirping has long ago worn thin.

Forty years ago, I ate a pistachio gelato at a little gelateria by the beach here and it was so perfect, so intensely creamy and flavorful and rich, that I have never really recovered from it, but remembered it -- through all the years and all the other ice creams -- as the pinnacle, the Platonic Ideal of gelato in comparison to which all merely earthly gelatos would, inevitably, fall short. It was no fault of their own -- such ice cream as I ate on that summer day in 1984 cannot exist in great quantities in our limited universe and to ask that there be two such pistachio gelati would be greedy. The gods have their limits, too.

But the same shop is still there. I recognized it immediately. So after months of going past without going in (out of fear of finding the old idols fallen in the dust and also laziness), on Tuesday -- here at the end of the summer season just when everything will soon close down -- we had an ice cream.

My god.

It was so good that I became an instant addict and spend all my mental energy now trying to figure out when I can have more, how I can have more, how much more I can have... Like any addict, I plot ways to justify needing (not just wanting, but actually needing) more of it and of tricking Jonathan into going for just one more hit.

I had Cinnamon Apple and Salted Caramel. Jonathan had Lemon Zest and Campari Grapefruit. I dream about the Cinnamon Apple at night.

In the meantime, between ice creams, I have been working on my series of paintings, "21 Views of my Groceries." 

We are in fig season now and stringhe season and apricot season, waiting for the first porcini mushrooms to arrive. Barbara and Sara gave us some very lovely gourds to photograph and more honey from their hives. The bees have been getting nectar from the lemon tree blossoms and you can taste it in the honey.

Our olives are looking good, but we don't know yet if the flies will come again this year and lay their eggs in them so that every olive is ruined by larvae. Mimmo is pessimistic, but sometimes that is just our way of placating the gods. They delight in overthrowing our expectations, so it is prudent to expect the worst. 

We are leaving for a short trip to the US week after next -- seeing the boys and supervising getting all of our old belongings into the container to be shipped to Italy. Tragically, we will be missing the soccer tournament that will be held at the pub in Leonardo's memory. The soccer itself is not all that exciting for me, but the announcement poster says that there will also be "jugglers, fire eaters, and singing animals."* I am very sorry to miss that, but Alice says that she will send me a video.

*It really says "singing and animals," but we have all agreed that singing animals would be even better.