Because I have nothing else to write about at this time, and because my brain seems to have come to a temporary -- hopefully not lengthy -- standstill, I decided to do one of my journal retrospectives, starting with an entry I wrote 22 years ago, and ending with my arrival in Florence in 1999.
In June long ago, I wrote:
1990 Never did write about Butterfly, did I? [HGO did the Hal Prince production in the spring of 1990.] Well, it was wonderful. Diana Soviero was incredible and I cried at every performance. She has absolutely spoiled me for any other Cio-Cio-San. During the run, I got to play for Marcello Giordani's voice lessons (our Pinkerton), and I also coached Gaetan Laperierre (Sharpless) a few times on Carmina. I earned lots of extra money that month.
1993 Had to get up at 5-frigging-thirty this morning. Angie and I had to do a Frida promo spot on Good Morning, Houston. You know, I should never again tape myself on TV -- that old saying about how you never look the way you think you look is totally true. I never knew, for instance, that my lack of a chin gave me a profile strangely akin to a bullfrog's, or that my right butt-cheek had a large parasite adhered to its upper slope. Good thing I have a sense of humor about it, or I'd be really depressed. My hair looked great. Also on the show was Princess Di's cousin, Lady Henrietta Spenser Churchill. She was promoting her book on English interiors. Of houses, that is. She was very friendly and charming in the Green Room, even after Angie asked her, "Does everyone call you Lady? Like Lady and the Tramp?"
1994 A quarreling couple has just come in to this restaurant. They are sitting a couple of tables away from me with their little girl, who can't be more than 7. The wife is complaining about having to ask for everything ("I hate having to ask!") and the husband is complaining about not getting any support from her. Their little girl has asked them, Please shut up. It broke my heart.
1996 Tonight I watched for the first time How to Make an American Quilt. I loved it! There was one moment that caught me unaware: near the end, as the women are finishing the quilt, Maya Angelou looks over at Alfre Woodard's patch and says, "That's good work." A shot of Alfre's patch shows a likeness of the Eiffel Tower, a poignant memorial of those few hours which she spent with her soul mate in Paris -- only a few hours, and they changed her life. She didn't even know his name. Anyway, I saw that Eiffel Tower, and suddenly I was sobbing. Pure gut reaction. Who can tell what effect a few hours, or days, or weeks can have on one's life? Even if I never see __ again, or never be anything more to him than a colleague and casual friend, those few precious weeks will always be a vital part of me.
1997 It's a very mellow time for me, and I'm hard pressed finding enough to keep myself busy. I have a project in the works, though -- writing an English singing version of Cenerentola. And I'm finding that it is not such an easy thing! When the Italian rhymes, I want the English to rhyme, and in these cases, the literal meaning of the Italian doesn't always work. And of course, the general rhythm of Italian is so different from English; the accents fall in different places. Then there's the problem of finding vowels that are suitable for cadenzas and embellishments and high notes; and in the patter sections, I have to be careful with the consonants. Very complicated. But an enjoyable and rewarding challenge, as well as an excellent exercise for my Italian.
1999 I have no idea what time it is. My new watch say 7.13 and my new clock says 7.58. At any rate, it's morning. A beautiful Tuscan morning. True to form, I woke up appallingly early and couldn't fall back asleep. Then the sound of church bells, very distant, very faint, from I don't know where, made me throw back the covers and dash to window à là Josie Lawrence in Enchanted April. Rooftops and treetops bathed in the rosy early sunlight, and below, the garden still in shade.
My flight into Florence was only 10 minutes late, unlike last time (about 2 hrs. late). Signora Bertini, my teacher and hostess, met me at the gate and I was relieved to find her very easy-going and personable. Her speech isn't quite as clean and clear as Signora Bartelloni's (my teacher in Lucca), but it's good for my ear. Not everyone speaks like a language tape!
The house is on the south side of town on a very, very old street indeed, Via Podestà. When we drove past the wall of the property, I knew it was going to be beautiful. Anything with a high stone wall has to be beautiful -- like the Secret Garden. And that's kind of what this is. The house itself is close to the street, ancient, noble, simple. I'll describe it to you in more detail as I get better acquainted with it. But the gardens are large and there are 2 pergolas and even a small labyrinth!
The wall around the Bertini's house, "Malavolta"
Front courtyard
Inside the house, I was immediately struck (figuratively) by the low doorways. Obviously, people were much shorter at the time the house was built, about 600 years ago. The well dates back to Dante. And the many staircases are made of pietra santa that is so worn with time and footsteps that it's become slick and shiny, and the steps slightly sunken in the center. There are many rooms on the ground floor; I can't remember them all. The bedrooms are on the first floor (second, to Americans), as well as the library (lots of books!) and a tiny chapel. The large, bright, high-ceilinged music room is at the top in what must have been the attic. It's a wonderful room in which to practice; there'a a Yamaha baby grand and even a "Juliet" balcony with a breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside.
View from the music room
My bedroom is one of five surrounding the large open library. There are two very narrow twin beds of rattan, antique furnishings and lamps, which contrast with the 13 contemporary paintings (Signora Bertini is a well-known artist).
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