Jonathan has been gone all week visiting his parents in New Jersey. I have been here in lovely Capriglia-by-the-Sea living in the winter wind and the air that is washed clear and the sea that glows like a pale blue pearl.

I am supposedly working on some of the pre-publication tasks for Armadillo Massacre Number Three. People are surprised that it takes so long to bring a book out, but I feel like I have so much to do and so little time to do it. There was a big zoom meeting last Friday night of all of the authors in our "season" -- Fall 2027 -- with the publisher. 

Now we are busy grouping up to make book tours together -- arranging readings, signings, panel discussions. I am in both the North Carolina group and the Colorado group. There are lots of dates to coordinate and bookstores. etc. to contact. And, of course, we are reading each other's manuscripts, so I have like 10 books to read in the next few weeks.

But there is also paperwork -- my very favorite thing. Multiple questionnaires to fil out with questions that require actual thought: "Who is your ideal reader?" "What is the number one reason booksellers should stock your book?"

I have no idea. With the world both literally and figuratively on fire, I don't know why anyone would do anything rational and calm.

I got an email this morning from a friend in the US who wrote: "Things are heavy. I'm weary of marching, signing petitions and screaming into the void. Yet we must carry on. ... I'm not sure my nervous system was meant for this."

We also feel that way, even here. During my Italian lesson yesterday, we spent half of our time discussing whether the demented orange madman will start World War III over Greenland. It's all so unbelievably insane. And yet, I fill out my little forms and send my little emails. I take showers and brush my teeth and still make the bed every morning and continue to eat kale -- just as if I think the world will wake up from this nightmare one fine morning. Maybe it will.

I have been away from lovely Capriglia-by-the-Sea for a while, but I'm back now. After a long, hot August working almost every night in the pub and then sleeping as late as we could in the cool mornings with all the windows open and all the sheets pushed off the bed onto the floor, we left to go to the US and visit our new baby grandchild.

We have decided not to rate him with regard to beauty ("the most beautiful baby ever") because my own two tiny sons were, of course, breathtakingly gorgeous. But we have agreed that this child is definitely "top five." He is laughing now. Baby laughter is my favorite sound in the world.

But the US seems like a scary, angry place now -- a place where everyone is on the edge. With Putin's lapdog sitting in the White House, it is looking more and more likely that there will be a war here in Europe, but it is still not as frightening as daily, violent life in the US.

When we got back, I left again almost immediately to go to England to see Fiona, who had a health scare a couple of weeks ago during which I bought a plane ticket. But she had recovered by the time the visit actually happened. (Which is, after all, the best outcome.)

While I was gone, some of the ladies from the village came over to show Jonathan how to find the wild porcini mushrooms in our woods. They waited for him on the terrace while he was inside putting on his boots. When he came out, Gilda said to him, "So, we're here to teach you how to hunt porcini mushrooms?"

"Yes," Jonathan said.

"Well, we might start with this one," she said and pointed to a giant one growing straight out of the mossy wall of the terrace, smack in plain sight. "Shouldn't be too hard around here, apparently."

It's good to give your neighbors a source of amusement. Makes you more part of the community.

 

We've been having a week here in lovely Capriglia-by-the-Sea. On Monday, we realized that we put my birthdate on the formal citizenship request in the place where Jonathan's should have gone. You already know about that. On Tuesday, the doctor told Jonathan that the strange lump under his arm is probably not cancerous, but that it should nevertheless be biopsied. On Wednesday, in the middle of the pouring rain, I went into the cantina and discovered that the floor was a centimeter deep in water. Sitting on the floor, soaking it all in, were multiple boxes of our books. Now, the books are all over the house, opening up like crinkled flowers as they dry out. On Thursday, I got seven mosquito bites on my right thigh and one on my left. These are the Southern Tiger Mosquitos -- brought north by climate change -- that leave big red welts that itch like fire for days and days.

On Friday, we found out that on the day almost a year ago when we sat in our attorney's office and I said, "Don't I need my criminal record from every state where I've lived?" and she said, "Oh, no -- only the FBI federal one." and I said, "Well, how nice! Tra-la-la-Tra-la-la-Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum," we were very much mistaken. I am now in the process of trying to figure out how to get a money order for US$7 to the Metropolitan Police Department in Washington, DC, and -- even more fun -- how to get the lovely Apostilles from all the states where I've lived. And of course, all week long, the political horrors coming out of the US continue to be godawful. I now personally know five people who have either already lost their jobs because of these monsters or are on the verge of losing them.

On Saturday, nothing too disastrous happened here at the house, although the cantina continues to be a flood zone (but we have moved all of our boxes out of there and they are -- once again -- piled all around the living room.) Jonathan and I went to the big Esselunga HyperMarket at Lido di Camaiore and bought a bunch of adorable mini-lemons and brought them home and candied them. We then invented a new dessert called Exploded Cannoli.

I don't want to seem immodest, but we are geniuses.

 "Emigrating from the U.S. -- 17 Tips, Facts, & FAQS", the latest episode of our podcast, is up now. You can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRbhcuEPhFU

We are having very romantic winter weather these days -- rough seas and skies like the inside of an oyster shell. But even though the wind is clear and cold and often fierce, hellebore and white daffodils are nevertheless blooming in sheltered little corners all over our garden.

Jonathan is slowly on the mend from his operation and can speak and eat regular food now, but still no word from the doctor about the biopsy results, so we worry. Next weekend is the Festa di San Biagio -- the patron saint of Pietrasanta and also of throats. So there is a Luna Park set up in a usually vacant field at the edge of town and next Monday there will be a Blessing of the Throats in the Duomo. Jonathan snorts dismissively, but I think this is too good an opportunity to pass up and intend to take him and his throat down to town to be blessed. This will doubtless involve some amount of trickery on my part. Or possibly crying.

And we are still working away on our video podcast project -- the second episode dropped today and we already have the third ready to go. Jonathan knows that this is all just procrastination because I am supposed to be working on a new book. So putting together a 50-episode video podcast series to keep from writing one paragraph seems quite reasonable.

We had lunch at the pub on Sunday, sitting at the Tavolo di Marmo with Ugo and Nonno and Alice's mother, Marzia. The secret of Alice's pregnancy is out now and everyone is so happy. Daniele is gently jovial and Alice is serene and beautiful. Marzia is busy encouraging Alice to eat more, while Alice glows happily.

One thing I miss about winter in Colorado Springs is the way the sky turns orange at night in the snow. But I look down on the jeweled plain below us and I am not too sad.

 

It's been quite a week for us. Monday we released the first episode of our new vodcast, The Revolution Will Not Be Televised: The Theory and Practice of Resistance. It is here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xELKX54aKI

We feel like we can't just sit here silently on our hillside while the great wave of fascism swallows the US whole. We only have tiny voices, but we will use them anyway, as best we can. The vodcast is kinda wonky and very homemade, but we hope that what we lack in flash, we make up for in sincerity. And fresh vegetables.

And then Tuesday, we spent ten hours in the hospital while Jonathan had a polyp removed from his vocal cord. We are certainly using the hell out of the fabulous free Italian health care system. Now we wait for the results of the biopsy to come back. So the terrible word "biopsy" hangs in the air here and we stay very close together all the time, as if we are protecting each other from something.

But the good news is that we have discovered the perfect way to make French toast by using leftover pan d'oro from the holidays. Sliced horizontally, it is shaped like a star and it is impossible to be glum while eating stars.

 

With the looming tidal wave of fascism all around the world, but especially in the US, we've been feeling pretty low, even here in our forgotten little Eden. So about three weeks ago, I had an idea -- Jonathan and I should put together a video podcast combining our expertise in social movements, collective action, protest, and resistance. I have three decades worth of thinking and teaching about this under my belt. I would have three decades worth of class notes about it except that after paying $30,000 to transport my notes all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, I immediately recycled them once they got here. That was about 48 hours before I had my idea and they suddenly became relevant again. Oh, well.

In any case, we are working away very hard on the episodes -- we have three of them finished now and are working on the next two and putting together a website, etc. The first episode will drop the day of the US presidential inauguration -- for obvious reasons. Then we plan to release one a week for 50 weeks. We are very earnest about this. I emphasize our earnestness and sincerity because our on-camera personalities are sock puppets and that may make us seem un-serious, which we are not. The puppets are named Juanita and Rodney.

Emma Goldman said, "If I can't dance, it's not my revolution." She said it right before they deported her.

Today is a terrible day here because of the devastating results in the US presidential election. It is like a nightmare that we can't wait up from.

Jonathan got an email this morning from a friend saying, "Who's glad he moved to Italia now?" But people we love are still in the US and we are very well aware that not everyone has the ability to just pick up and move to another country. And, even here, there is no escape from the incredible harm of a fascist taking power in the US. We are all fucked.

But after 30 years of teaching about totalitarianism, I know that a key goal of oppressors is to atomize and isolate people living under their control. Totalitarianism is threatened by community, connection, and solidarity. Reaching out to our communities and strengthening our connections with each other is one of the most powerful ways to resist oppression. 

After waking to the terrible news, Jonathan and I sat and cried for a while and then decided that we had to do something to get out of the house and into the world. So we went down to town and stopped into our little bookstore here, Nina La Liberia, to chat with Andrea and Valentina, the owners, who were also on the edge of tears. But at least we are on the edge of tears together. 

Then we went together down the entire two-block length of Via Barsanti and took pictures every few feet of the buildings and the doors and the windows. It felt like maybe making some art -- any art of any kind -- is a tiny part of the resistance and maybe the only thing we are capable of doing in the midst of our shock and devastation today. So here are the pictures. I love you all.