Quiet times

Genealogy was the work of the day, with the four of us each on our various devices, trying to sort out how to properly enter records we aren’t really supposed to have so that we can do the work we are trying to do. The records from one of the towns are sparse, and probably, that is because the town isn’t quite a town. Like so many other former villages in Italy, there are few inhabitants left, and the town is merely a wide spot in the road with some folks fiercely calling it home. No one likes to think of their town being shrunk into oblivion, and here is no exception. Romaggi lost their records to a larger, newer church, but we have some, a few. We’ve figured out, with Bill’s help, how to share them into a file. That’s a start. We have baptisms and matrimonios, in Latin, and spent the day translating word by unrecognizably handwritten word. We have one done, and the rest are all photos. Any Latin scholars out there are welcome. Three Catholic school-educated people with some Latin background really had to stretch in the WAAY-BACK ( and on the internet) to recall any Latin declensions or abbreviations.

We took a break, ate a little more focaccia, and decided to go into town on a mission to find red pants for Bill, who is 50 lbs lighter than he was last trip. We love a mission. Currently, the colors seem to be green, and gold, a beautiful burnished deep almost copper that is everywhere. So far, no fashion luck, but not for lack of trying. All of the town seemed to be out flirting, shopping, laughing, eating, just because they could, and it was Saturday, I suppose. We sought earrings for Elaine’s cousin, a calendar for Kelley, a gift for some others. red pants. Simple. We bought 5 oranges, three tiny pears and some dried fruit at the market in the center square.

Wrapping up_, we sought gelato, in the belief that an appetizer before dinner would be great. We found it, of course.

Dinner had us scratching for a linen tablecloth’ed setting in the palazzo where the market had ended a few hours ago, amid the oldest historic former palazzos (1500) of Chiavari. No luck- we walked, watched people eating, and were turned away in several places where we did not have the reservation they required. It really had become Saturday night. We were just random, without a prenotazione, of course. As we walked down the alley — it really is an alley — we found one that had room. Totally willing to try something new, we ordered Indian food. In Italy. Wonderful, and well served by a young woman with excellent English. Some of us had new experiences and loved it.

No plans, no reservations, no expectations. Great things happened. It was an amazing dinner. Tomorrow, the Abbey, for which we have reservations, for which we have waited a week. It sounds incredible. Photos will follow, if true. Maybe, whether true or not.

The Abbey of Cervara allows visits sometimes, in groups. Their story is a soap opera run-on for hundreds of years — built for defense, abandoned, betrayed, challenged, accepted, and loved, then again abandoned, ignored, and neglected. Falling to pieces, then again selected, big money restored it to natural and very magnificent elegance and beauty; then, repeat. Now, it is a privately owned, and spectacular site and restoration by the owners. Amazing work on an irreplaceable site. Secretly, didn’t you always want to live in a palace, with prayerful atrium walkways, multiple gardens ( and gardeners) a chapel or two, dramatic stairways 20 foot decorated ceilings, jutting out over the sparklingly blue sea, with frescoes from the 1500s everywhere you turned? You know you did…

Just for grins, we went to see No Time to die, the new James Bond movie, in Italian. beautiful theatre, although minescule by American standards, bright blue seats, and green walls, no waiting, no translation, masked. Oddly deep voices dubbing, but other than long dialogue sequences, the action tells the story, of course, and the girls are now kick-arse empowered, and packing. It’s Bond. James Bond.

till another time.