i racconti...list of gratitudes and belle cose

...i woke up this morning in antonios apartment, and the devil was outside beating his wife. rain spattered against the window next to my bed, but the sun was breaking through in rays, illuminating streaks of the room around me. the walls of the room are gold and books in various languages lay stacked and in constant rotation on the shelves. at night plastic sticker stars shine down from the ceiling, and upon close inspection i can see a pattern in their placement, galaxies and ways and the beginning of time recreated by hand. a miniature infinity. the room is too hot because i fell asleep withthe heater on too high, and when i slip my left foot out from under the covers i feel relief and a chill as my body temperature starts to regulate. i find my reflection in the mirror beside the bed and i see myself smiling, a lazy contented morning smile, and i realize that i look very pretty. i close my eyes and the first full thought in my head comes clear and succinct, as though from somewhere else, already formed and delivered because it is correct, perfect. the thought is: i must be doing something right.


...yesterday i stopped at a small cafe near the vatican for a cappuccino. the cafe is cute and almost decadent- metallic blue panelling and a golden counter, stacks of croissants and morning tarts, and newspapers lie about the tiny tables read over and over, briefly skimmed or in detail by the rush of clientel. i order my cappucinno, and the boy behind the counter steams milk fresh from a glass bottle as he pulls the shot of espresso. i can smell the grounds as they fall into place. chocolate powder is sprinkled into my cup in a way that suggests ordered chaos- heavy on the sides, a spatter in the bottom. espresso is poured and then the milk. as it comes together patterns begin to emerge. the boy takes a sliver of a cinnamon stick and draws flower petals in the foam. pictures arise from the wake left in the milk, coffee and chocolate spades and paisleys. the whwole creation takes 30 seconds and i watch and grin. there is a clink as he sets the cup down in front of me, and he winks and moves on to the next customer. my cappuccino is a mocha gardenia, a 1967 headband, a navajo footprint, a victorian masterpiece. when i have finished i pay 1 euro, and the boy says "ciao, bella!" as i leave. i smile about this the entire day, and still now.

...i am eating a pork panini on the ledge of the fountain in piazza farnese, a really delicious sandwich, let me tell you, with rosemary and crunch around the edges. im eating this sandwich and watching the carabinieri who are milling about the piazza in their crisp blue uniforms, machine guns holstered in their arms. i keep my eyes on these guys because, for some reason, i really love the carabinieri. they are serious and terribly cool and always look severe and unamused and kind of handsom. im lost in thought about these guys, and suddenly i feel a cold wet puppy nose against my knee (puppy noses are unmistakable). i look and see a bautiful cocker spaniel puppy prancing at my fee, its big brown eyes looking, not at me, but at my sandwich. i reach out and pet its ears and they are so soft, like threads of silk, and i love this dog. its owner is calling it away and im saying "ciao ciuccolo, ciao bello!" and petting its sweet head. the dog obeys its owner and lopes off, awkward puppy loping, all legs and ears. about 20 paces away though it changes its mind and comes right back to me. more petting, more calling from its owner. the dog leaves again but halfway across the piazza it turns right around and comes back. the whole piazza is watching now , its just too cute, and im giggling and the puppy is obviously in the throws of a natural delima, obey or eat pork, and finally the owner comes and hooks him on his leash right as i slip him a bit of my sandwich. he walks away and keeps turning his head back to me, wanting more. i look over at the carabinieri and they are smiling at me, first time ive seen these guys with anything akin to emotion. i finish my sandwich and leave, thinking well now i can die happy.


...antonio has dire straits "romeo and juliet" on his ipod, and i listen to it and do the dance from empire records and think of james

...i go to the cookbook bar, my local haunt, and see my friends. they ask how my week on the farm went, and we talk about how i worked at that market in testaccio last saturday. the older of the two, tells me, "why didnt you let us know you were working there? we would have come and seen you! no matter how far it was, we would always come see you". as usual when im around these boys, my heart swells with happiness and gratitude, and i have written a promise to them, signed my name and dotted all the "i"s and crossed all the "t"s, that when i am famous i will not only remember them, i will make it known how wonderful they are, and tell everyone how they befriended me, and i will send them my homemade cheese and a card every christmas.

...antonio has The Aristocats on DVD. in italian "Gli Aristogatti". i cant fathom why he owns this film, but it makes me happy.