I had fresh figs right off the tree!

 Last night, we attended an evening function sponsored by a couple who are workers in the Rome Temple to thank the Temple presidency, the Matron, and her assistants, who are about to be released. It was at the members' home about 50 minutes outside of Rome. When we arrived, it was clear that there were quite a few fruit trees on the property.  Having grown up on the remnants of a fruit tree orchard, I was interested to see what his yard produced.  He had apricot trees, prickly pears, mandarins, oranges, olives, and a huge fig tree.  

I've seen fig trees growing; but never had the chance to pick and eat them right off the tree.  The first time I ate a fresh fig was in Venice, Italy, nearly 50 years ago.  It was the same color as a granny smith apple. The next time I had fresh figs, they came from California; and instead, those were purple. 

The figs on this tree were again green in color but ripe and juicy. I ate three or four last night and they were the same size as jumbo avocados.  We had purchased some at the grocery store on Saturday--but they aren't at all as tasty, and only half the size. Here's a photo of the ones from the store. 

In keeping with new food experiences, Robyn had rabbit for the first time today at lunch.  I had ravioli but Robyn's dish was far better than my plate. They came in three sections with sage, potato and a small salad of tomatoes and lettuce.

 

Today, Robyn and I and some friends caravanned to a fascinating city to the north of Rome called Orvieto. It has a Duomo (city's main cathedral) that is every bit as splendid as those found in Siena and Florence. It's been several years since I was in Florence or Siena; but I believe the artwork in this cathedral surpasses either of those other Tuscan cathedrals. There are astonishing statues of the 12 apostles from the New Testament (excluding, as always, Judas Iscariot, who is replaced by Paul), and a touching pietà with two more persons present than in Michelangelo's rendition in St. Peter's Basilica.  From what we've been able to ascertain, the sculptor of the apostles had an assistant who produced the pietà; but it clearly shows that the assistant was really the more capable.  Consider this version of Thomas, who is usually depicted with some tool of science--meant to demonstrate his unwillingness to believe in the Savior's resurrection until he saw and handled the Lord's body. I think that's an unfair characterization--but it aids in identification of who the sculptor intended to portray.  (Peter is usually easy to spot because he always has keys in his hand.) 

In this instance Thomas has a carpenter's square in his left hand. The ability of these artists to depict flowing fabric, and malleable flesh astonishes me. These sculptures were out in the weather for centuries but have been brought inside the chapel of the cathedral where they have a commanding presence.  As I noted above, these are all magnificent works of art; but the images of the crucified Christ on Mary's lap, with an unidentified woman at Christ's feet, and a man holding a ladder, hammer and nails standing behind Mary, is powerful.  The nails apparently signify those that had been used to crucify the Savior.  I wish I could find out more about this scene, because I think it implies that the man holding the ladder was Joseph, Mary's husband--thought to have been a carpenter. Everything in the portrayal is sculpted from Marble: the ladder, rope, hand holding the hammer, and all four personages.  I can't express how beautiful the work is.

Coming Soon - Greek Temples in Sicily

 We went to a city in Sicily called Agrigento that apparently has the most intact ancient Greek temples on earth. As we stood in front of the ruins, Robyn said, "This is what happens when you don't clean your house." There are Greek temples there from 550 BC.

We went to the hometown of Archimedes: Siracuse. We drove across most of the island of Sicily and saw a freeway that collapsed after only being open for 19 days.  People told us it was due to graft and buying off inspectors. I sent photos to my nephew who works for UDOT. They thought it was fascinating. Below are photos of the finished, 93 Billion Euro raised freeway from about 8 years ago, and a photo Robyn took out of the car window as we drove along the replacement highway.

Spiders et cetera.

A couple of items I've wanted to mention:

Robyn ordered a beautiful white dress on Amazon for the temple. In the photos it looked perfect for her needs.  When it arrived, it was a beautiful white dress with gold polka dots.  Here's a photo of Robyn and one of our American friends--Sharlene Hansen--she and her husband Jerry are working with us at the temple.  I wanted to get a photo of the nespole (loquat or medlar) fruit tree I mentioned in an earlier entry. I found the fruit at the grocery store and realized there was a loquat tree on the side of the road on the way to the temple with loquats just starting to ripen.  Last Sunday they were fully ripe and I asked Robyn and Sharlene Hansen to stand under the tree so that I could get a photo of them, the fruit tree, and Robyn's dress at the same time. I noticed today that the unpicked fruit is no longer edible. It's a very fragile and tasty fruit that ripens and spoils quickly.

Early this spring I was typing at my laptop as a tiny red spider crawled across my screen. That happens in the USA and when it does, I reach up and tap the spider with my finger. It usually dispatches it quickly and I go back to typing. Well this one was different. As I touched it, his whole body just liquified into a bright red streak across my screen. It took several minutes to remove that red dye.  I've learned to be more careful.  They're found everywhere here, and I've seen the soles of shoes that look like they were scribbled upon by a bright red pen. It's also a good idea to check for red spiders before sitting anywhere in clothing that could be stained red.

When Robyn and I came here last October to find an apartment, we arrived at our apartment about an hour before check-in.  It was a beautiful setting. New apartments with wonderful landscaping. We decided to sit down on one of the walls on by the sidewalk and wait to be let in to our apartment.  Robyn was sitting on one side of the sidewalk with her suitcase at her feet and I was on the other side of the walk.  I noticed a rat come running along the edge of the sidewalk towards Robyn. It disappeared from my view between Robyn's feet and her suitcase.  I said calmly, "Rat."  She said, "What?" I repeated, "Rat--at your feet." She still didn't understand and stood up to come closer. That's when the rat continued out from under her suitcase and feet. We haven't seen any rats since then.

A while ago I posted a photo of a breakfast cereal called "Choco Crusties" because the name made me laugh.  I've decided that it's a delicious wheat cereal that looks like brown rice crispies.  Unfortunately, when one or two of them spill on to the counter, they look disturbingly like mouse turds so you can't pick them up and toss them in your mouth without looking at them closely.  I haven't seen any mouse tracks over here, but you can never be too careful.  If we can find some marshmallows, Robyn's going to make some Choco Crusties Rice Crispy Treats. I think they'll be great. We haven't seen marshmallows though.

At the temple there are some huge pine trees, a variety I've never seen outside of Italy.  I'd describe then as Mediterranean Pines. They have been dropping huge pine cones that are covered with sap. One of them landed on the sidewalk and shattered, scattering pieces. Initially, I thought they were seeds; but one of the gardeners at the temple grounds showed me a pine nut from these trees. He said they're quite rare and equally delicious. I took a photo of the pine nut, then Robyn and I ate it (well, we ate the part inside.) Tasted just like the ones back home. Most everything in Italy is small--trucks, showers--but pine nuts are lots bigger over here. As you can see from the photo, they're longer than the width of my ring finger. They're many times larger than a typical pine nut. (I haven't figured out how to format photos with text yet--and it's doubly difficult because I bought a full sized keyboard for when I'm home and many of the keys don't do what it says they do on the keys.) ... I learned a little more about the pine trees. I've been told that they're Mediterranean Sea Pines, and they only grow near the ocean. Below is a photo of said pines.  Lots of sticky sap and huge pine cones; but they don't look like any pine trees I'm familiar with.

One month since the temple re-opened

 It's hard to believe that it's been more than a month since we updated this blog.  The photo above was from a couple of weeks ago in a village called Bagnoregio. The Andersons invited us to go with them on their P-Day to see this village built on a hill. I'll cover that after explaining why we've been mostly silent.

We went to Sicily last month in the last few days before the Rome temple opened after two months for a maintenance closure. We had an incredible trip and I expected to write about it; but the day after we returned, we started back at the temple and although a day in the temple is better than a thousand days anywhere else--sometimes it really takes all our energy. We usually work from 8:00 am until about 2:00 pm, but since we still don't have a car, we have to rely on the bus system; and that usually adds a couple of hours to the day. We live about a 25 minute walk from the temple and about a 5 minute bus ride--provided the bus comes when it's supposed to.  It's supposed to come about every 50 minutes, but some days it's Italy on steroids and just doesn't arrive anytime near when you needed it.

When Robyn and I worked as volunteers in the Salt Lake Temple, we only worked on Saturdays, and our shift started around 10:30 am ending about 3:30 pm.  I say about because sometimes sessions went longer than normal and for a few years, we were coordinators for the shift and would have extra responsibilities.  Like most temple workers, we would arrive excited to be there and five hours later we were exhausted and grateful to come home. We started that in our early 50's and now that I'm in my late sixties, I wear out faster.  Back then we'd come home and invariably take a nap. I remember sometimes waking up Robyn when it was time to get under the covers for the night. We worked Saturdays and recuperated for the rest of the week.  Here, we work Tuesday through Saturday and recuperate the other two days. It is a riot, but we're older and not as resilient as we used to be. Standing out in the sun waiting for the bus kind of saps your energy when it gets up in the 90's.  We're too tired to go shopping and often are forced *forced* to have pizza for dinner. Consequently, we do our shopping on Monday and have to haul our groceries a couple of blocks home from the store.  

Last Sunday, our daughter Lydia asked me "What do you guys have planned for your free day?" I wrote back: 

"I have to fix my bike, we have a ton of laundry to do, we have to go buy a fan, I have to go to the post office and stand in line to pay my electric bill, I have to go to a car rental agency to see if what they advertise is factual, we have to do our grocery shopping, I have to do the temple schedule for Wednesday through Saturday, and then we're free to do anything we want."

I use my bike when the bus doesn't come and I'm assigned to be at the recommend desk.  Robyn comes later when a bus finally arrives.

  When our bus does come, it gets us to the temple about 20 minutes before it opens. It's quiet and Robyn sits quietly while I walk around and wait to chat with others who show up early.  If you zoom in on this photo, you can see Robn sitting on a bench on the left side of the plaza.

The water feature includes a pool close to the front door. When people aren't nearby, seagulls have a riot swimming around.  When there are no gulls, swallows fly across the pond and drink as they fly low across the surface at ludicrous speed. There are also two-toned crows called cornacchie that hang around the temple. They apparently speak a different language over here.  In America, crows say "caw-caw." Here in Italy, I have been assured by Italians that there's an "r" in there and Italian crows say "cra cra" not "caw-caw."  There's an Italian verb for the crow's call: gracchiare. I've listened intently and can't tell if the "r" is trilled or not. The variety of song birds here is wonderful to hear (except for the tone deaf crows). The song birds start singing about 4:30 in the morning. I know because I'm old and wake up around that time most mornings.

The people who stay in temple housing are allowed to wear their white clothes (except for shoes because of tiny spiders) to the temple because it's about a 50 yard walk--ok, about 48 meters... and we stand around and chat about lots of stuff until the doors open. Everybody else is in white and I'm in dark slacks and a bit taller than many of them.

A few days ago, one of the guys taught me how to say "Let's go" in his dialect of Taranto (south end of the boot.)  I try to learn how to say "let's go" whenever I encounter a new language.  In Sicily it's "Ammo-nini!" Well, several of these people were from the Taranto area this morning, and when the doors opened, I said, "Shammanin!"  The women were thrilled to hear me make that announcement in their dialect. One guy asked his wife, "Did you hear him? He said, "Shammanin!" The other day I was at the recommend desk when the temple opened. As workers first arrive, they pick up their work schedules for the day. One lady got her schedule and said, something in dialect to me and then was sort of embarrassed because only people from her region would unerstand what she said. She apologetically said, "Oh, I'm from the Veneto." I said, "Go capio." Which is I understand in Veneto.  

When I was a missionary I lived in the Veneto (the region around Venice) and still remember a couple of phrases.  She was pleased and not a little surprised.

Dialects of the different regions cause people from those regions to speak Italian with identifiable accents--identifiable to Italians but mostly a mystery to me. 50 years ago, the cartoon featuring Snagglepuss was popular in Italy. (For those of you who remember, one of his recurring lines was, "Exit, stage right.") People thought it was hilarious that he had a Bolognese accent.  The accents are hard for us because it takes foreigners a few days to get used to the way they speak Italian. Missionaries who get transferred to a new region usually are lost for the first few days after arrival. The dialect of Florence, however, is standard Italian. The first time I went to Florence I was astounded that I could understand everything everybody said. It's because they have no accent. I asked one of the ordinance workers what his dialect was called. He deadpanned, "Italian. I'm from Toscana." (That's where Florence is found.)