i made a roasted chicken!

or roasted parts of a chicken, at least, and it was so good. feel whole again. marion picked angela and i up at the airport yesterday, same as always: blond and beautiful, except now even skinnier than ever before and sort of shiny in a radiant, healthy, i-excercise-for-fun way. angela and i looked exactly how people look when they leave italy- a little ragged, a little fleshy, a little exhausted, healthy and happy and radiant in another sort of way (the sort of way that comes from copious amounts of ravioli, wine, italian kisses, gelato, moon light walks through ancient streets, etc). you know what im talking about. had been looking forward to this arrival for weeks now, when everything would be clean and nice and safe, and as we sat on marions gorgeous, quaint back deck, the weather unseasonably warm and the grass lush, eating mini sandwiches on bread made out of nuts and oats and fresh tomatos, angela and i looked at each other, smiled, and sighed. oh, germany! angela cant get over how nice they are, how wonderful and kind. all i can say is, i know, dude, i told you. we ate a dinner of roasted chicken with shallots and lemon, huge fresh mushrooms, roasted radicchio polenta, steamed colliflower, and a salad with fresh peppers, tomatos, and a basilic vinaigrette. white wine and, of course, a little talk of politics later, angela and i went to bed and slept like we had reentered the womb on a full stomach.
is now lunch time, and marion, kalla, and annika are out at various works. the weather is spectacular, so im gonna take angie to the park down the road, with the forests. have many papers to write and research to do, and i couldnt begin to think of a more tranquil spot for such things.
allorah, recap...
fled piemonte (fled, my loves) early on a friday morning. kissed my belle pastorelle good bye, pecked little princess nutella and prince pistolino on their sweet heads (considered sticking pistolino in my suitcase and busting him out too in manner of clarice from Silence of the Lambs, but he was a bit too big), and took the first train out. destination: friuli. 10 hours later (ceva-savona-genoa-milano-venezia-udine-cormons, good grief!) i disembarked in cormons. the castle was there, all lit up, like a beacon of, well, home, and he was there, too, FL, just where i had left him a month before. all of the muscles in my body seemed to relax at once, and as i began to drop, turning instantaniously into merely vapor, merely relief, nothing more than thankfulness, his big arms came and caught me, and i heard him let out a sigh, too. we went straight home, where within the first hour i had a hot bath, a glass of friuli white, just about more loving and affection than one little girl can handle, and a homemade dinner. he made such a beautiful meal that night, i will recount: fresh steaks, must have been prime rib, seared to perfection, sliced thin and layed over a salad of fresh, chunky vegeatbles and arugula, shaved local cows milk cheese (called, simply, latteria), and a dressing of balsamic vinegar, roasted peaches, and sea salt. that was the first hour, and the whole weekend was a run for its money.
saturday we experimented with whiskey, by cooking osso bucco and potato flambe, which turned out delicious, of course. it was during this meal that FLs dad came down to the back patio to get some sort of tool, and asked, in friulano, which i cannot understand, if i had brought the cheese that was in the refrigerator from piemonte. FL responded, apparently, that not only had i brougt the cheese, i had made the cheese, to which FLs dad responded, apparently (because i cannot understand friulano) that the cheese was absolutely wonderful. they both beamed at me and i just smiled back and nodded, the best way to feign comprehension. had to have it all repeated to me in italian afterwards, at which point i remembered that i had, infact, brought back some of my very own cheese. tried a bite, and though it tasted like the smell of the barn as far as im concerned (that smell may never, ever leave me), i will say, that i have made some damned good cheese. brava, brava, brava! we were just settling in to watch Blue Brothers, which i am ashamed to say i had never seen before, when Condor called, and insisted that if we wished to live another day, we were to report directly to Gianni´s, the little late-night bar down the street. FL responded, as an excuse in an effort to salvage our comfortable, couch-beached night, that we were too sleepy and a bit drunk. condors response: "...um, this is cormons, saturday. you find me one person who isnt drunk and we´ll excommunicate them". fine. we dragged ourselves outside, where the air, cool like autumn revived us and, hand in hand, went to give big hugs to those boys who i had missed so badly. condor told me my hair looked weird, but that he was glad to have me back anyway, because the collective heartbreak over my loss was causing them all to break out. cormons needs me like a 17 year old needs noxema, he said.
bah, ok, have alot more to write, but am being asked confusing questions about my plans for october, which as of now i do not have. must figure things out. will write more in a bit.
love, e