Christmas Day, 2005 - Backseat of the car again, this time rumbling around streets of Cortona towards Mercatala, stone walls surrounding us on either side, now open fields, now vineyards, now houses clustered together in that red stucco, red tile roof Tuscany way. We spent Christmas Eve in the old town of Cortona, a city on top of a hill, its streets steep and cobbled. It’s raining, not much like Christmas. A walk this morning up the outside of the citta, towards Chiesa Margherita, a convent at the top and stunning views of the gentle valley.

We walked down deserted streets, closed in by stone walls and shuttered windows, and as we passed, heard the clinking of silverware and the excited voices of people sharing Christmas feast. Now we have to face the cold house which has been given to us for this leg of our journey. We have to figure out how to heat it; we fear that no one has gotten us wood as promised earlier, that nothing has been done to prepare for us, but we hope we’re wrong. No electric heat in the house, but an airtight stove in the living room just off the kitchen, and some kind of propane tank heater in the bathroom. When we went into the house yesterday, it was colder inside than outside; I could see my breath before me and my fingers were cold even with gloves on.



9:40 pm. We’ve taken off our gloves and jackets now and sit with feet up, in a room mostly lit by candles. Gord has made a fire andwe’ve been feeding it since about 3:45 pm. Jaz went downstairs under the house and fetched some dry wood and chopped it with a hatchet. I walked next door, the family was curious seeing us arrive and so I asked them to help us, as I am nervous around gas. “Voi potete dare auito ... cominciare il stufa?” Not sure how correct that was, had to look up “start” and “light” but in the end decided on cominciare as the verb. They buzzed back and forth and decided the younger man Franco and his wife Patricia (Patrizia) would show us how to turn the knobs and strike the match. A lot of mutual delight going around, they don’t speak a word of English or French. We invited them over for vino rosso, and they said, “Domani”. With French I can speak without forethought, but want to learn how to say a thing correctly or idiomatically; I’m at such a basic stage with this language I am simply grateful to communicate!

Wonderful to finally fix something in our own kitchen! The stone house with stucco walls, wood beams and stone fireplaces is owned by Jamie, a friend of Peter B who lives in Vancouver. She and her husband have renovated it into a livable, charming space: everything old, full of the past but freshened and Mediterranean. Yesterday, before “Messe a Mezzanotte”, before the stores closed in Cortona for Christmas at 7:30, we went into the shops, down narrow streets, choosing salamis and cheeses and wine for our Christmas meal. Listening to “Auguri” and “Buona Natale” and watching the townspeople gather and greet each other as they probably have in this fortress town for centuries on Christmas Eve. Today our gift to each other was this house, just us together, and this meal: hand made pasta, a bolognese sauce with shaved parmesan, “verdure cruda” with balsamic vinegar and extra virgin olive oil, a bottle of vino russo, a sharp, hard cheese, fried sausage, tangerines, chocolates from Sergio, biscotti. At an old wood table in front of the fire, rain slashing the windows.