Il Dolce Far Niente (or Necking at the Beach for Hours)

They say the Italians are masters at doing nothing.
That that's where their true genius lies -- their ability to have fun, to feel good, to live a good life, without doing anything at all.
Without accomplishing anything.
Unless you count necking for several hours.
Which, I guess you do. That's precisely the point.
Went to the lake yesterday afternoon with my husband and son.
There was a couple there -- not that young -- laying on side-by-side longues who spent the entire afternoon kissing.
Hours.
It was hot to watch, of course.
Or at least catch fleeting glimpses of.
They just laid there all afternoon in their bathing suits, kissing, hugging and chatting.
He would cup her face now and again or smooth down her hair or run his hand over her hip and then pull her closer.
And all the while, they just kissed. And kissed. And kissed.
Without going any further than that.
With no rush about it at all.
With no end goal in sight.
Now everyone knows that Italy is the land of Public Displays of Affection.
You see couples making out all over the place (many don't have anywhere else to go).
But this was different.
For me, what was really striking about this couple, was the feeling these two gave off of having NOTHING ELSE THEY'D RATHER DO.
ALL AFTERNOON.
ALL EVENING.
ALL SUMMER.
Beyond just kiss.
It was the languor of it all, the take-all-the-time-in-the-world feeling about it, the this-could-go-on-forever-just-like-this mood they gave off.
Excuse me, but how cool is that?
What could possibly be better than spending a hot summer afternoon lying in a chaise longue with your lover beside you, just gently kissing you?
I mean, what could you have to do that could possibly compete with that?
Play frisbee? Work on your to-do list?
And while you're at it, why not make it last all afternoon?
Or all evening.
Or all summer.
I mean, really, what the hell else you gotta do?

Al Fresco

One of nicest things about Italy -- the thing that makes the country a king among countries -- is the whole alfresconess of it.
In the summer.
Light's beautiful; sun shines a lot. There can be a slight breeze.
It's so often the perfect temperature for sitting outside.
For eating outside. For having a drink at a bar. For going swimmming. For drying your laundry, gardening, puttering around.
Anything really.
Eating outside especially.
Just so pleasant.
Alfresco dining. At every meal.
Why not?
In Washington, you cannot eat outside really. It's too muggy. Too many mosquitos.
You just do not do it.
In other places I've lived too. Not so much.
Not that pleasant.
Here, just so pleasant.
Perfect temperature.
No bugs really.
We sit outside at every meal here.
It's just evolved that way. Because we have a big wooden table outside.
A big IKEA thing we bought 10 years ago now -- in a rush -- that seats 12, I think. Massive old crappy thing now that I've thrown a beautiful yellow Provencal tablecloth over I found at a market near here last year.
Looks so much better than it deserves to.
That's where we sit.
To eat, play cards, whatever.
We have an astounding view of this lake in central Italy.
The lake changes every day -- several times a day -- the way it flows, waves and shimmers.
You can stare at it for hours.
It's amazing when it rains too.
The other night, I was here alone, and I lay outside on a chaise longue on the terrace and watched a huge lightning storm pass through.
Big black clouds. Shafts of evening sun. Beautiful rainbow.
More punishing rain.
Just sat out there and watched. Almost three hours, I think.
Can you build a life around a view?

Blogging

I've got nothing to say about Italy today (I do, but I'm gonna skip it), or England, or searching for a home, or working, or not working, or identity, or any of my usual themes.
What I'd like to write to you about today -- briefly, I promise -- is blogging.
Yeah, it's fun.
I enjoy the hell out of it (I hope it shows).
And I bet so do the hundreds of thousands of other people doing it these days too. Or is it actually millions now?
What a blast.
Just write whatever comes to mind. Use stuff from your life. From what happened to you that day.
Really liberating.
And fascinating. Addicting, even.
Fun to read (hopefully).
Not journalism though, folks.
Absolutely nothing like it.
Do I have a right to make this distinction since I do both? Or will the bloggers among you get mad at me? Or are all of you too busy blogging to be reading any blogs?
Take for example what I wrote to you about Italian driving the other day.
Didn't have a fucking fact in it.
Just me blowing off my mouth. And plumbing my emotions.
Now, let's pretend for a minute that I was writing a story -- for a newspaper, magazine, wire service, web site, anything you want really -- about driving in Italy.
It would need what you call in the game, research.
Like: Accident figures. Accident trends. Driving statistics. Comparative driving statistics. People who have been in crashes. People who have been affected by crashes. People who know stuff about Italian driving. People who know stuff about Italian crashes. People who know stuff about Italians. People who know stuff about driving, period.
ALL KINDS OF STUFF.
ALL KINDS OF INTERVIEWS.
A powerful opening anecdote. A nut graph. A spine. A kicker. An editor who says things like a spine and a kicker.
Work, in other words.
You would actually learn something if you read it.
I would've learned something writing it. (A lot actually).
Maybe not as much fun. For either of us.
Dunno.
You tell me.
A whole different thing, though.