The roof is leaking. The washing machine is broken. The palazzo is quiet right now. The church bells chime. The girl at the cappuccino bar is now giving us the local price for our “due cappuccini” every morning. The sun is out after a few days of the coldest May on record, acqua alta, and pouring rain. The guy at the enoteca helps me pick out “a fine, red wine” for my soon to arrive husband. In a half hour, I will head down to the San Angelo traghetto stop to welcome him to our home in Venice.
The second time around is the same yet different. Dru and I have our favorite artisans and make it a point to support them. I have done some new things, yet the scene is now so familiar; I cannot go so far as to say, I feel at home though. Yet I do. It is a home like no other-like living in Disneyland. And the light. Oh the light light that enthralled Turner and Sargent. I would like to have lived then when the views of the Palazzi were not blocked by bus stops and the grand canal was traversed only by human power rather than the ever present motor craft. Here are my extremes of the days.