Thursday, 5 January 2012
For the love of witches
I had two possible blog paths in mind today while zoning out in a crowded ski lift (Italians yelling into their phones, kids losing goggles, noses being wiped). Either the love perils of the eternal divorcée in this melodramatic country, or something more historical - about the haunted Piave River we pass every time we come up here, where an eighteen year old Ernest Hemingway was among those injured in the devastating and decisive Battle of the Solstice in June 1918.
But between that zone-out time and now a million things have happened, not the least being extreme thigh-fatigue from telemark skiing which required an old lady afternoon nap. And later, when googling this blog after my daughter used my iPad for hours and cancelled my pages to cover her tracks, I saw that my book - The Divorced Lady's Companion to Living in Italy - is up on Amazon for pre-order! What joy! How unbelievable! Said daughter is now tired of my preening and suggests I go out for a drink. Which I will do. If my thighs agree to come out in the cold. How wonderful is that? I do wish some of you ladies were curled up in that house up the hill.
So as you can see I am now too witless to write of anything else. And the Lovesick theme can well be saved for another day, a snowy day perhaps, a day with wings. And the WWI battles - twenty thousand young Austro-Hungarians drowned in that river! - tis more than the heart can bear.
Instead tonight the village bells are clanging and it is the night of the Befana, the witch who brings sweets to good children, lumps of charcoal to bad. Suddenly I feel like messing up my hair and getting out my broomstick.