30 June 1997. What the hell is wrong with having leftovers? At every meal here, Delia says, "We have to finish this, or we throw it away." I love leftovers! My mother has them all the time, with almost every meal she cooks. The potatoes that Delia made yesterday, for instance -- they were cubed and baked with rosemary and olive oil -- why couldn't she heat the remainder in a pan today for lunch? They would have been great that way! I just don't get it. And she makes me feel guilty if I don't finish everything. I can't! What does she want me to do, throw up???
1 July 1997. Well, at least I can go for long walks. And last night I took advantage of the stairs, climbing up and down, up and down.
It rained on and off this morning, but by the afternoon it was glorious. I walked the route Dan and I discovered, up to the church and back to the main road, making the circle twice around. Tomorrow I'll do it 3 times. I just hope all this walking will burn off the food.
Yesterday for dinner, Vittorio made a delicious vegetable frittata (I think that's where those leftover potatoes went). Today at lunch there was trout caught from a nearby stream, deep-fried in an egg batter; fresh, ripe tomatoes and cucumbers plus a plain green salad; at dinner there were light-as-air potato gnocchi wth pomodoro sauce, mortadella, cauliflower, and un pochino di tiramisu.
My lessons are going pretty well, though we're still reviewing grammar that I already know. No harm in reviewing, but I need to push ahead. I feel as if my speking hasn't improved as much as it should. I get nervous. My oral reading, however, has gotten much better -- the phrasing, inflection, etc. -- and I understand what I'm reading. I still can't understand much of the news on TV because the language is too sophisticated and they speak so fast.
2 July 1997. Today was a full, tiring day. I got up at the usual time, had breakfast at about 9, then we had 2 hours of grammar (I should have asked to fare una pausa after the first hour; two straight hours is too tiring for my brain), then I went to the post office; back for pranzo at one, then a brisk walk along my usual route; did a bit of laundry, had another hour of grammar, practiced, had a relatively light dinner. It is now 9.20 and I'm exhausted.
For grammar, we're using the book they use at the Universita' per Stranieri a Perugia. Each chapter begins with a dialogue which features whatever grammatical formula the chapter deals with. Today Delia made me recount the dialogue in my own words. But she keeps wanting to prompt me. Every time I pause to grope for a word or grammatical structure, she prompts me. I have to ask her not to do that. First of all, I have to think for myself even if I need 5 minutes to formulate a complicated sentence; secondly, most of the time she guesses wrongly what I want to say, then I get confused.
4 July 1997. Buon compleanno, Stati Uniti!
Last night after dinner, we had coffee at -- I don't know their last name. Il Dottore (a. k. a. Aldo), his wife, and their daughter Elena (in Italian, the accent is on the first syllable, much prettier than our "E-lay-nuh").
Elena is 17 and studies piano and something called canto leggero, which is technically "pop" singing, otherwise known as belting and whining. She invited me to go with her today to her voice lesson in town. Her teacher lives on the top floor of a palazzo. She's a real character. During the hour or so we were there, she must have answered the phone about five times, then finally she took it off the hook. Elena is a very nice girl, not unintelligent and not without some talent, though I worry about the unhealthy way she belts. The lesson took place in a very small, crowded room overlooking the steet. Part of her training is learning how to sing with a microphone, which she did, and it was extremely painful to my ears in that tiny room. She wants to show me around Lucca on Monday. Nice kid, very open.
Her father, il Dottore, picked us up then took me back to their house so that I could practice on their very nice piano a coda (literally, a "tailed" piano, or a grand piano). I've been working on the Bach G Major French Suite, the Mozart K. 576 Sonata, the Chopin A-flat Ballade and his "Andante Spianato and Grande Polonaise." All of which are going amazingly well. Since these are all "old" pieces for me, I can judge very clearly how much my technique has improved. Everything is so much easier! Very gratifying -- especially in the Chopin. How well I remember struggling so hard with some of those sections. I'm a big girl now, with a big girl technique!
I still play everything as if A. is listening; maybe that's why I've been playing so well.
To be continued. . . .
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