Montepulciano Meditation

I've just sat down on the balcony for my first coffee of the day.  The table is adorned by the cheap but cheerful blue and white checked tablecloth we bought at the weekly market in Sinalunga yesterday.  The tablecloth would be banished for its tackiness from our place at home, but in this context it serves its purpose with a touch of colourful playfulness.

This morning my walk took me down the gravel country road beneath us.  I'm familiar with it because Keith and I have walked it before, when we first started to get the hang of "slow travel." I admit to a slight cheat since I parked the car down at the bottom of the hill near the glorious church, San Biagio.  From there there was still enough of a downhill slope to know that I was going to get a decent workout on the way back.  I was aware that if Keith was doing his morning stretches at the window he would be able to see the little spec, which was me, walking below him.  Again I am aware of the phenomena of perspective.  Everything seems different to me from the vantage point I am currently in as opposed to seeing it from above.  The olive trees are now massive individuals rather than pieces of the patchwork I've been drinking in with my eyes for the past week.  The roosters who've been supplying the staccato in our daily soundtrack have been spotted.  They roam freely in their yard and the city girl in me wonders why they don't escape.  The thought is quickly banished, why would they escape, I certainly wouldn't.

What a joy it is  to walk down that road, white gravel crunching underfoot.  The sounds brings to mind all the many generations of people who've experienced that same sound and feeling.  Being in this part of Tuscany the dead are never far away from you.  I notice a few cars come and go from the cemetery already.  Italians have a gift for honouring their dead.  I've often observed that cemeteries in this country seem to occupy some of the most prime real estate.  For example, the cemetery in Porto Venere on the Ligurian Coast is set up on the hill with the most beautiful sea view - as though the honour of this position should be granted to the loved ones who've left this world.  The cemetery here is also beautifully situated near the bottom of the town surrounded by cypresses and vineyards and the most peaceful rural scene imaginable.  If I had a choice in the matter, I'd quite happily spend eternity laid to rest in such a place.

Here, the living seem to have a healthy relationship with the dead.  They visit and attend to their loved ones, changing flowers and tidying up urns.  I imagine it would be a comforting task - a little something you can still do for someone who you loved, a way to say "you are still a part of me." I have never visited the gravesites of my grandparents in Saskatchewan - in fact, I'd be hard-pressed to even tell you where they are.  But I can imagine it would feel affirming to see their names carved in stone, as if to say, "yes, you were here and you were more than my meagre memories."  I think of my grandparents often when I am in Italy.  Maybe its the ancientness of our surroundings or the evidence of the Catholic faith (my maternal grandparents were devout), because the Churches, bells, shrines, all call out their memories to me.  When we go into the Churches I always light candles for them and I wonder what they would think of their girl being so far away from home and close to their "old countries".  

All four of my grandparents were of European decent, three of them were first generation Canadian, and my paternal grandfather was born in Norway.  Not a single shred of Italian heritage in my d.n.a. as far as I can tell.  None of my grandparents set foot on the continent once their families immigrated to Canada.  In those days people did not travel the way we almost take for granted in our time.  This is part of what I find so astounding.  I simply cannot fathom leaving everything and everyone I know - forever.  You would've realized that all your friends and family you were leaving behind would likely never be seen again.  And all of this is being traded off for a future which was entirely unknown.  Those people had fortitude in my opinion.  I suppose its a common tale, after all North America is populated by the decedents of immigrants as well as new immigrants.  Nevertheless, I am astounded by the intrepid souls who've begun again in a new land.  Sadly, I know very little of the lives of my own ancestors other than what I've heard about my paternal great-grandmother who was widowed early and only had an unheated wooden home to shelter her and her children from the harsh prairie winters.  I often romanticize that part of my emotional response to Europe is imbedded in my genetics.  I'd like to think that all four grandparents are here in me experiencing this place through me.  

Returning to the land of the living, I start into the little chores that need doing.  I cannot explain why, but even housework is more appealing to me here.  I believe it was Thich Nhat Hahn that said "there is only one way to wash the dishes: to enjoy washing the dishes."  This concept applies to all the housework here.  I've just done a load of washing and hung it out to dry "Sohpia Loren style" as my friend Silvana calls it.  There is something extremely satisfying in this simple task.  I love that nature just does its thing - no need for a noisy, energy consuming machine.  Each night I check the garbage schedule (different types of trash on different days) and I traipse down the stairs in my pyjamas to take it out first thing each the morning.  Each type has its own bin and it seems to me to be a wonderfully efficient system.  Next up will be some dusting and floor cleaning, and like at home, I've recruited Keith for the bathroom cleaning.  I find myself wanting to adopt this same positive attitude about cleaning when we eventually return home.

I have no idea what we will do today.  I realize that this is quite a privilege and is based on the fact that we have the luxury of not having to cram in as much as possible within a short time-frame.  Three months is a remarkable extravagance and one we feel intensely grateful for.  We met a friendly couple at the car rental office last week and then ran into them a few days later here.  They came here after a family cruise in Greece and only had a couple of days to explore.  I wished they could stay longer and get to experience this place rather than "do" it as many tourists say.  If there is any "doing" to be done, it is this place doing something to you rather than vice versa.  Years ago when Italy was all new to us we also felt the imperative of having to get the most bang out of our buck.  Now my objective is to lose myself, to let go of the "doing" and embrace the "being".  Montepulciano is turning me into a monk.