Knock, knock

In the middle of the night last night, a friend of my friend, called to say that he was arriving with more friends.  It took me more than a few minutes to remember English, to remember that the door upstairs was locked, to remember that it was pouring down rain, to remember that there was no fire in the stove, and there was no food except a confection of handmade candied apricots, figs, roasted nuts, covered in chocolate that I had given as a gift to my lovely hostess before she left for Africa.  I unwrapped it and put it on the table.  They are a self sufficient group–a good thing, because I was madly and close to obsessively washing dishes when they came in.  They started the fire, made themselves tea, made me laugh and then found their own beds.

In the morning I made my way through the cats who sleep in a pile by my side, threw on my clothes, and drove up the road to Preggio, making my hairpin turn to the top now with the best of them, and then fried happy chicken eggs and toasted thick cut toast of pane normale.  Nearly all of the  ladies are off to Assisi today, with the exception of two who would rather relax and walk through the woods and watch the clouds float by.

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