It comes in waves.
I live in a beautiful city with wonderful, kind people. I have great neighbors. I’m working on a script I’ve been struggling with for years, and thanks to a comment from a friend of mine here – who never even heard about the play before we shared dinner – something important clicked and I’m gaining traction.
But then I read about what’s going on in North Carolina – one of those states I have, in fact, never even been to – and paralysis set in.
Things today that helped me learn to move again were:
My super-neighbor, Renzo, delivered more little blue lights to help me decorate for Le Feste. While here, he took a look at the cabinet doors in my kitchen (which were never installed correctly, as it turns out) and at a wet patch on an exterior wall (probably a leak in a pipe that is embedded therein). Then he invited me for lunch and shared the best pan-cooked chicken I have ever tasted and salad of fennel and onion, carrot (and other things) that fit the same category within the world of salads. The topic of conversation was primarily about food. I worry I’m unable to be kind enough in return.
Then I walked towards Piazza della Repubblica to see if Gianlucca, who owns the used bookstore, had a copy of a book I think Renzo would enjoy. (I slyly asked if he had read it, and casually, while he was sorting salad.) Gianlucca found it on eBay, but not on his shelves. He allowed me verbally to despair about politics for a few minutes, and did his level best to see events from my American point of view – more than many of us are able to muster for an Italian. It helped.
I had bought a ticket to Canto di Natale (A Christmas Carol) this morning, and set out for Teatro Mancinelli not quite knowing what to expect. The only thing I understood about it last year was that it took place in the lobby and was aimed mainly at children, so I skipped it. But then Andrea told me it was wonderful, so this year it became an event not to to be missed.
It did start in the lobby. Hooded figures swooped out of the shadows – what seemed like a dozen of them – and then, after a short introduction by the fellow who would play all the nice guys conflated into one (Cratchit, Nephew Fred, etc.) he bid us follow him upstairs. He ushered us into a beautiful room, primarily yellow, and we found our places to watch Scrooge at his greedy, cranky, blustery worst.
Then Ebenezer went home, and we followed him into the grand upstairs lobby, so deftly changed by pieces of gauze and lighting, that I, for one, hardly knew where we were at first. There Marley issued his warnings, and an acrobatic nymph of a Spirit of Christmas Past gave Scrooge his first lesson in gaining kindness; face your sadness and fear.
For the Spirit of Christmas Present a tall man with a black beard, a blue bouffant wig, a tutu, and stubby angel wings took us into a room primarily blue, and encouraged us all to dance and party while he provided Scrooge with lesson two; be humble, put your little life into perspective.
Finally, we were sent back to the upper lobby where we were greeted by a tall man in black tie and tales wearing white makeup, who moved beautifully and gave us the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come. We watched a little silent film of Old Joe and his minions trading quips and coins over Scrooge’s precious nothings that he valued so dearly in life, and Scrooge was given his final lesson: you will die regardless of fame, fortune, power, or conceit.
Then he welcomed Bob into his folding arms. The actors bowed silly, exchanged places with the audience, and wished us happiness as we exited, employing hearty handshakes and warm smiles.
It all took about an hour, but was so rich it felt like two – in a good way. The company seemed large and varied, but only five actors bowed. The kids were enthralled. I was enthralled by the kids.
I came home, took the blue lights Renzo had provided, filled a large lantern I have on the outside stairway with them, and let them cascade. Renzo’s wife and mother-in-law, Patrizia and Puni, came onto their balcony as I was finishing. “Bello! Bello!” I thanked them, agreed, and probably glowed as brightly as the lights. They admired the scene for a bit, and as they turned into their apartment Puni asked if I’d had dinner, yet. Yes, I said. More than my fill. Thank you.