You can feel the yearning.
The relaxation of some lockdown restrictions was announced on Monday by Italy’s prime minister, and the thought of a stroll through a park, a meal prepared away from home, or being able to be in the street on a family visit has taken hold of the collective imagination.
My neighbor Marianna and I had a balcony chat this afternoon. I felt lousy, she looked tired for the first time I can remember, only her dog, Pongo, seemed himself.
“So how are things?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I think I’m a little nuts.”
“Yeah.”
“The promise of a slight relaxation of restrictions on Monday has stressed me out.”
“Yeah. I don’t know if there will be too much relaxation or not enough. It’s impossible to tell.”
I wanted to say that the anticipation of even a moderate form of street life has us feeling stir crazy all of a sudden, whereas when we had no idea how much longer restrictions would last it was easier to accept and make the best of it. But I didn’t know how, so I said, “Everyone feels anxious in a way that’s different from a few days ago. We so miss being connected.”
“Are you getting your walks in?”
I gestured to the courtyard.
“Well, if you need anything, just yell.”
“Thanks, but having to leave for groceries is the high point of my week!”
“Yeah, mine too. And thank God for Pongo.”
Pongo wiggled forward at the mention of his name, and stuck his nose through the drying laundry to sniff a confirmation of my identity. I have a crush on Pongo.
Antonny, owner of Blue Bar – way out on Via Garibaldi – sent me a WhatsApp message this morning. “I am always with the kids, but Romina is free, I go to the bar to do some work, it you’re okay when I go, I’ll try to stop at your door? Talking from a distance, obviously.” I didn’t see the message for an hour, and messages exchanged since, have been similarly uncoordinated, but just the promise of standing, masked, in the middle of the lane to chat with a friend at a distance of a meter or two, was enough to quicken me.
And yes, it was a month since I last went to the Studio Medico to pick up orders for pharmaceuticals, even though it seems a week ago. And two weeks have passed since I last wrestled the bed linens into submission. And I saw Luisa on the street who I’d not seen in two months. And this is the fifty-first journal entry.
Time beyond the daily cycle seems as malleable as bread dough.
When I promised to write these posts, they were meant to update friends, mostly in the States, on what the Italian lockdown looked like from the inside of my little house and yard. Today, when I saw Luisa, the first thing she asked was, “How are things in the United States?”
“They seem pretty bad, I’m afraid.”
“You have friends in New York.”
“Yes, and I think of them all the time.”
“I don’t hear much, but what I do hear sounds crazy.”
“Yep,” and we thankfully switched to news of her mother, her kids, and her work – all fine.
The inside view of the lockdown in Orvieto is about the same as in New York or California, except that most people I know here share apartments smaller than a suburban California living room. And that’s why the first thing people here talk about as being difficult is the lack of walks. Home is a perch, where you sleep and eat most of your meals, but it was never intended as a place to hang out. That’s what the town is for. That’s where you see your friends, hear the news, keep track of growing children, and size up the latest fashions. A life without connection is hardly a life at all, and connections are continuous. Except during a lockdown. Then we turn to WhatsApp and do the best we can.
I posted an article yesterday about Vilnius opening its streets and squares, free of charge, so restaurants could spread their tables to safe distances this summer. It’s a great idea, and I began to imagine how it could be applied to Orvieto where most eateries already have tables in adjacent public space. Well, how about a traffic ban for the summer, on all thoroughfares with restaurants, and a temporary conversion of piazzas with parking into piazzas with dining? That might raise our spirits, attract visitors, and save our restaurants and bars, all together. Imagine.
I want to thank you for reading these posts. I never know what shape they will take when I sit to write (as I’m sure is often blatantly obvious) but writing them has given the days a focal point, and has helped to turn the bread dough of time into crispy loaves – perfect for an insalata caprese at a favorite trattoria for a June lunch, while sitting (at a healthy distance apart) in the middle of Corso Cavour.