Everyday I pass the catacomb of the unknown refrigerator garnished by Bethlehem Bells. In its little cave it waits for someone to take it to recycling so it can be reincarnated as a car or modern appliance. The thoughtless disposal of the little fridge, so faithful, so helpful until it failed or went out of style, has ruined its hope for enlightenment.
Along the path is a wildflower I have not seen. The wildflowers have never lingered this long into the summer before. By now the are squelched by the heat, but this year they are still blooming. The poppies seem done, but everything else is exuberant.
After first and second breakfast things went down hill for me. I went to work on the painting of the mayor’s house under the bridge take #2. I had corrected the drawing the night before after I had sprayed the painting. It was Wallis paper so it was not a problem to make the drastic changes I had envisioned. I was there a little earlier so there was some extra light sneaking in that made the painting more interesting. In the end I left feeling unhappy. I did not want to spray the whole thing again and basically start over so I called it quits.
While I was painting quite a few other things went on a round me. A man I know came to get his tractor out of his garage, but before he did that he spent a long time gunny the engine of a weed wacker. Finally that was loaded on the tractor and a delivery was attempted. After not too long he was back and there was some more engine revving. A guy I see all the time and who has become a little scary to me, arrived to pick up the weed wacker. The tractor was reinstalled in the garage and that was that. (I like the tractor man and painted his house last summer)
Meanwhile just as the tractor was about to leave suddenly two cats came up the stairs and ran under the wheels up the alley. Why would they do that I wondered. (you are going to be happy I didn’t take this picture) The question was answered when one cat returned with a chicken, who had just been beheaded, head in its mouth. It is not just the head, but rather the entire neck as well. I was happy there was no blood dripping down. The second cat was running down the alley trying to catch up with the chicken head. This combined with the, at times, strong scent of sewer, the man hacking up after a night of sleeping on cigarette lungs and the burning brush down the road were making me feel quite sick. So sick that I was thinking how nice it would be to go to Big Lots. A sweet lady came by and we had a pleasant conversation in which she told me where she lived and I told her where I lived and she invited me to come over for coffee sometime. Although I was proud of how well I could speak and also understand her, it made me long for a clerk at Big Lots who spoke English.
It is unclear who finished who here, but this painting is over for me. (12 x 16 version)
Tomorrow I am going shopping with a friend. At least I think I am. Everything from this point on is pure speculation. I believe we are taking a free bus, that is running through the park for tourists, to Pratola. From there we will be taking a train, which is not free, to somewhere that shoes are on sale. She wants to buy three pairs, red, beige and something else. It will be a day for just the women, no men. My plan is to wait at the bus stop across the street and if she comes I will get on the bus otherwise I will go home. I am afraid there is something wrong with my friend. She does not seem able to stop talking. It takes terrific energy to listen to her, because almost all the words she knows in English are words I know in Italian. She says those words in English, waits for affirmation, and leaves me out to dry on the Italian part. The good thing is she doesn’t give up, the bad thing is that what is finally communicated does not matter much. Oh, and lunch might be involved.
After painting we took a walk on the road to Gagliano. I just had to go for a walk and burn off some of the fidgets. I just hope my painting looks better after pizza. Most things do.
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