Without Lifting A Finger

    



 Across the waves of roofs, I can see a woman of middle age, wrinkled, poor, who is always leaning over something, and who never goes out. Out of her face, out of her dress, out of her attitude, out of nothing almost, I have made up the woman's story, and sometimes I say it over to myself with tears. If it had been a poor old man, I could have made up his just as easily. And I go to bed, proud of having lived and suffered in others.

I think we figured out all the world's problems. The apple fritter helped. *     

Bagno Vignoni is an Italian village and hamlet ( frazione ) of San Quirico d'Orcia , situated on a hill above the Val d'Orcia in Tuscany . It is a popular tourist destination and well known for its hot springs. History The ancient village of Bagno Vignoni is located in the heart of Tuscany , in the Val d'Orcia Natural Park . Thanks to the Via Francigena (which was the main route followed by pilgrims in antiquity who went to Rome), these thermal waters were found and have been used since Roman times. At the heart of the village is the "Square of sources", namely a rectangular tank, of sixteenth-century origin, which contains the original source of water that comes from the subterranean aquifer of volcanic origins. Since the Etruscans and Romans - as evidenced by the numerous archaeological finds - the spa of Bagno Vignoni was attended by eminent personalities such as Pope Pius II , Saint Catherine of Siena , Lorenzo the Magnificent and many other artis...

It's been a very long time. I thought the candle bit was in the dark, or at least ending in the dark. Still: unforgettable. *                                               

            

                              

More like Bucking. With a short walk (beneath dripping sky) thrown in. Walked past a dripping Gaytonia and to the top of her favorite street: St. Joseph. Couldn't sea to the ocean, because of the gray, but with the giraffish palms in the distance I could imagine it. * 

Haven't yet given up on FMF's Parade's End (good bits but it's not the poetry of Proust), but downloaded some Baudelaire while I was sitting at Bucks. Started rereading Paris Spleen . Two clips: The contemplation of Beauty is a duel where the artist screams with terror before being vanquished. * One of my friends, the most harmless dreamer that ever lived, at one time set fire to a forest, in order to ascertain, as he said, whether the flames take hold with the easiness that is commonly affirmed.

Two or three big holes in the ground. An apple fritter and a water fountain. Can't beat that! 

                    

Probably a record commute: 4+ hours. I guess I was lucky: didn't get stuck Honda deep in water. It took over three hours to get from school (Washington & Vermont) to 51st. We squeezed off, paralleled the 110 (all the houses in that area seemed out of power: very dark), then finally found the freeway ramp: 110 South @ Slauson. Didn't know how bad the flooding was until I got home and saw pics on the news. *