oh no, we have to kill the baby pistolino...such a cute little boy goat (si chiama 'pistolino' because he's such a little pistol...also for anotomic reasons). we were joking at lunch today about how we didnt have anything here for dinner, and mario and isa are getting tired of eating WWOOFers. mario tossed out nonchalantly, "well thats fine, pistolino will make for great goat and beans", and we all laughed, until we realised he was serious. am a tad horror struck...but also intrigued by this age-old recipe of piemonte, the goat and beans, so...you know, its tough. starting to get attached to the little devils, quite honestly.
everything here is running smoothly. angela has gone through a transformation of sorts, in manner of butterfly emerging from coccoon, after her wee-morning-hours kiss from the cute italian. she came here as sort of a last-resort grab-for-faith, as she was stuck in a crappy relationship, endless schooling, piles of debt (hell, if you cant pay it off, may as well have fun and avoid it for a while), and just as sour a mood and deep a funk as i had ever seen her in. have been witnessing before my eyes the process of getting-over-evil-boy-who-left-one-broken hearted, and i must say, escaping the country and finding yourself elbow deep in sheep manure, delicious food, blue eyed boys, and copious amounts of wine, not to mention wonderful girls with which to bond and giggle, is a miraculous solution. her mood is jubilent and it makes me happy. for the first couple of weeks here she stuck to the kitchen chores, rarely emerging from the casa. lately, however, shes been accompanying us to pasture, where she is getting more friendly with the animals, and i watch her charge at them, rediculously, at full gait, her staff extended like a sword, shouting "an'damo! doop doop doop!". the animals obey more out of shock and confusion then anything else, but i love it.
feel like im gaining weight, dont know how i couldnt be. the work is still hard, but doesnt seem daunting now, and its much more fun. nicole is going to cut my hair today, and tell me stories about her grandfather, a revolutionary film maker who snuck to cuba in the 1960s to make documentaries on the government, among other adventures. he is deeply loathed by the CIA. her father followed suit and went to join a band in nicaragua during the revolution in the 1980s, singing protest songs and compiling exposes. he met her mother, a nicaraguan dancer, in the USSR. they returned to nicaragua, did their best, and raised nicole there until she was 14.
damned flies. theres always one that continuously lands on my head while im trying to sleep. anyway, the rent is free and the knowledge is priceless. roma soon, though, where i can take a hot shower, wash my clothes properly, sleep without being awoken by the mooooooing of animals at ungodly hours, and see JANE.
love!