Our trip to Italy was a collection of episodes:  a Fellini-like carnival of errors, truths, joys and upsets.  I recorded five pages of one-pulse events and emotions -- key words to prompt weeks of  Artnotes.

Nothing ever goes as we plan.  A psychiatrist once told me it is because we do so much more than most people, we have many more failures.

Each night in Stimigliano, Blair and I lie trembling in our bed, listening to every little creak and noise:  unmistakable footfalls on the roof.  Nightly, we'd lock ourselves in, and I'd wait for the first rays of morning light to burst forth to fresh air and a beautiful view.  We were 40 kilometers north of Rome, in the "country".

As Blair opened the door Tuesday morning, a scorpion jumped in.  Our initial horror gave way to curiosity.  Just like in the pictures, he held up his little claws and thrust his tail over his head.  Our creativity kicked in as we searched for means to exterminate him without getting too close.  "This is a bad sign," I told Blair.  I shook out my shoes before inserting my feet.

We'd both been to Rome (and loved it) in the 1970s -- Blair lived there for nine months studying Architecture.  The day we drove in, it was raining hard.  We visited the Villa Giulia, one of the best remaining examples of Renaissance architecture and garden in one.  It is now a museum of the Etruscan civilization, that lived just north of Rome, in the vicinity of our own accommodations, 2500 years ago. The  mid section of the house is a sunken water-garden to keep things cool.  The villa was never used in summer because malaria-carrying mosquitoes bred amongst the marble statuary.  It was at this moment the person who had lent us his place in Stimigliano called to tell us he'd been mistaken -- the property was rented starting Saturday and we'd have to move out.

Undaunted, we drove further into Rome.  Situations always look brighter over a dish of spaghetti.  If our vacation was to be cut short, we'd just have to do more, faster.  We ate lunch near the Piazza Navona, starting with pressed artichokes fried in olive oil.  We drank coffee at the Tazza d'oro, the best coffee on earth for only 65 centimes at the bar. 

We called our friends near Modena, who we'd invited down to Rome to visit us.  "Why don't you come up here for a few days?" they asked.  Saved.  With roses in plastic bottles secured between my feet, Blair drove our rental car North for 4 hours.

By noon on Saturday, we were eating pasta with friends.  We went out for coffee afterwards, and I had my first "Shakerato" -- an iced drink with coffee, sugar, cream and ice, made in a cocktail shaker.

As we drove back to the house,  a man in a leather helmet driving an ancient (well, 1925 or so) Ferrari passed us in the other direction; then a 1930s Bentley; a 1936 Aston Martin...
the "Mille Miglia" -- a thousand mile parade (formerly a race) of vintage European racecars.  We watched for more than an hour as beautiful cars and drivers passed by.

The race was followed by a fair of street performers.  To our fascination, the red-haired bearded lady dangled artistically from a crane in the center of town.  A strong man in stripes accompanied his delicate mime home to a trailer parked on the curb.

We talked  with our ex pat counterpart in Italy until we were hoarse. No matter how long we live in Europe, we are Americans at heart, sharing an eternal optimism and avoiding communism. A third American, a businessman, joined us for dinner one night, convincing us we should be selling our paintings in China.  Not whining about the flood of imports, we'll peddle our own goods to the newly rich Chinese.

On Thursday, we returned to 90 degrees in Paris.  I forgot to shut off the heat before we left.  I order Fellini music (Nino Rota) on Amazon.com.



Laurie (painting and text) and Blair PESSEMIER
"Pink Carnation" 16 x 20 inches  acrylic on canvas