Brag

Colleen Mondor of the blog Chasing Ray reviewed Clear Heart back in May while I was on my book tour, and I just found out about it. I'm proud because she's one of the most insightful reviewers out there, and she loved the book. You can read the entire review here. The conclusion is:

By the time I closed the final page I thought wow - this is the book every 17 year old boy needs to read. It's about men and women (and how to treat each other); it's about choosing your friends wisely, and it's about work which is something we are all supposed to plan to do but no one ever seems to teach us how to do it well. I simply thought it was wonderful. Highly recommended for discerning teens and anyone interested in a good read about some good people.

Colleen reviews YA titles, so that's the slant of her review. Funny how every time I write a book for and about adults, it ends up appealing to teens, too.

There will always be laundry

Laundry of Shanghai...
So what's this got to do with construction - or writing - or anything?
Well,
I've never seen an architect's rendering of a proposed building that included laundry hanging out to dry.
But laundry happens. I have a passage in Clear Heart that goes:

“If I lived here,” Abe said, “I’d erect a telescope here. Great platform for stargazing.”
“And daytime,” Juke said, “you could check the downhill neighbors. Some lady of leisure. Watch ‘em sunbathe nude and rub up with coconut oil.”
“They do that?”
“I know for a fact. All them rich ladies.”
“If you say so,” Abe said, shrugging. “They’re also mothers, you know. They have children and laundry and stuff.”

Somehow we never include laundry in our sex dreams. Or our fancy plans. Do you think the Chinese architects and builders who drew up scale models and spiffy drawings of those high rises in the background included laundry hanging from the balconies?

There will always be laundry. Including bright red jammies.

There will always be laundry

Wherever,

whenever...

There will always be laundry.

Beppe Sebaste: Panchine

If you want to buy a book, first the dog has to approve you. If you smell okay, this little store in Lucca, Italy, might sell you a copy of Panchine: Come Uscire dal Mondo senza Uscirne by Beppe Sebaste, a lovely book of meditations on the subject of park benches (panchine) and how to exit the world without really leaving. Beppe looks like your grandfather and is the kind of guy you want to sit down and have a beer with - on a park bench, perhaps, while playing a game of chess.

The epigraph at the front of the book is a quote from Richard Brautigan:

Why is a short story short?
Ask that man sitting on a bench
in the park, any park, but be prepared, for he might
tell you a story longer
than you would want to listen to.

Beppe did me the honor of reading a passage from my Le Famose Patate to an audience in Piacenza, Italy. It was a passage about hitchhiking in an old pickup truck banging across the fields of Illinois. Maybe thoughts on the bench seats in old pickups are an American equivalent to meditating on a park bench in Italy. The last lines of the passage were:

"You got kids? How many?"
"'Leven."
"Eleven! Wow! How do you feed them all?"
"With a spoon. Haw haw."
Haw haw. A good answer to an impertinent question. Of course the children would be fed. As we bounced between the fields of America in a dirty old farm truck, I had no doubt that the children of this land would always be fed.

But he used these words:

"Hai figli? Quanti?"
"Undici."
"Undici! Cacchio! E come fai a dargli da mangiare?"
"Col cucchiaio. Ah-ah."
Ah-ah. La giusta risposta a una domanda impertinente. Certo, vuoi che non desse loro da mangiare? A mano a mano che avanzavamo sobbalzando tra i campi d'America nel vecchio camioncino sidicio, mi si stemperava ogni dubbio: i gigli di questa terra avrebbero avuto sempre qualcosa da mangiare.

Work and Play

I like it when a stonemason combines work and play. This whole wall is playful.

I guess his name is Muccia.

Another example would be Limey Kay, who I wrote about here and here.

Limey and Muccia would have liked each other.

Living with the Past: the Naked Remodel

It's a modern school housed in medieval stone, patched here and there with brick. I know how difficult it is with schools: There's always a balancing act with the budget, and the physical plant is usually the first cut. Still, they're doing a nice job. They've kept the walls from crumbling while adding a graceful modern door here, removing an old window there, even adding a glass roof and suspended lights over the little piazza.

Living with the Past: the Naked Remodel

They started building this church in the year 870. Eventually, even with brick and stone, things fall apart. I can count about six different repair jobs in this small section, involving at least three different tradesmen using different bricks and different styles. When you work with brick, your workmanship is your brand, and it really stands out - sometimes in a good way, sometimes not.

As a tradesman myself, I try not to be too critical of other people's work. Heaven knows I've made my share of sloppy repairs - but usually the sloppiness was because the owner wanted it quick and dirty and cheap. Eventually I stopped taking those cheap jobs because, like the bricks in the upper left of this photo, your quick cheap repair might last for centuries, insulting your reputation each and every day.

(You can click on the photo to see more detail.)