Under the Tuscan Sun, Frances Mayes

Back in the days when I was the wife of a New Zealand Airforce officer, living on Base Woodbourne, up in Marlborough (‘up’ because I came from ‘down’ in Dunedin) I bought a book that has traveled everywhere with me ever since.

I devoured Frances Mayes, Under the Tuscan Sun, as we moved off Base and out of that airforce life. We were heading to Fiordland, in the south west of New Zealand, chasing that husband’s career - back in the 90’s. (Yes, I’ve lived here before) And I read that book, holding it close, through the crazy days of packing moving and unpacking.

It’s a beautiful poetic prose book, one that I dip in and out of when I’m seeking beauty and some kind of peace ... a book that takes me wandering even while grounded.

Some years later, I was flying between Istanbul and New Zealand, on my summer holiday break from teaching, and Under the Tuscan Sun was there as a movie choice on my Singapore Airlines flight.

I had at least 19 hours of flight time ahead of me, and so I selected it as a movie to watch, as I flew to the other side of the world ...

The movie is not not like the book. Do not expect it. It’s a nice enough movie but it contains none of the depth and richness I find, again and again, when I go back to my tattered copy of the book.

An extract from the book: I remember dreaming over Bachelard’s ‘The Poetics of Space’, which I don’t have with me, only a few sentences copied into a notebook. He wrote about the house as a “tool for analysis” of the human soul.

By remembering the houses we’ve lived in, we learn to abide within ourselves. I felt close to his sense of the house. He wrote about the strange whir of the sun as it comes into a room in which one is alone. Mainly, I remember recognising his idea that the house protects the dreamer; the houses that are important to us are the ones that allow us to dream in peace.

And this: ‘Choice is restorative when it reaches towards an instinctive recognition of the earliest self. As Dante recognised at the beginning of ‘The Inferno’: What must we do in order to grow?

home, liguria.jpg

The foto: The Ligurian house I wanted, passionately, madly, deeply.

This Genovese Life of Mine ...

Slowly but surely, my life is finding its shape here in Genova.  

And it has been full of so many beautiful moments this year.  Yesterday was one more of those outstandingly excellent days.   One where I had the pleasure of documenting an event that involved one of my favourite musicians ... Jack Savoretti.  

Favorite because I like so many of his songs.

And I did something I've never done before ... but being Jack, he made it so easy to ask.

I have a little man in my life, I adore him.  He's one.  And we love Jack's music.  He's transfixed by Catapult, we dance like fools to Written in the Scars,  and adore  the song Home

And it was because of 'Home', that I asked Jack if I could have my photograph taken with him.  I never do that ... never ever, but I wanted to send a copy to Mr One, who is back in New Zealand now.  Some of his first words, in song form, were from 'Home'.

We might sing when we go out walking.  Quietly, and within the limits of what can be sung by a one year old.  'H-h-h-home' became one of our 'going home' songs. 

It's set in the city stadium here in Genova, that time when Genoa beat Juventus, it pleases both the Genoa fan in me, and that woman who loves Genova more than any place else.  I used to watch the video while I was living in Belgium and England but missing Genova.  It took me home.

And so yesterday, I photographed Jack, as part of an event I will write another post for, chatted with him a little, and yes ... I had my photograph taken for Mr One.

It was a good day.