Ice Cream and Opera House Acoustics

I came home this afternoon to find my lamp on my desk. What's so strange about that?, you might ask. Lots of lamps sit on desks. Except that this one is a floor lamp.

"Emilia," I called down the stairs, "Is there a reason my lamp is on my desk?"

"Yes," she said, "I was cleaning the floor earlier."

"Oh," I said, "Thank you. Can I put it back now?"

Which of course was fine. But it was still entertaining. Added an element of surprise to my day.

My essay for Opera (the one I was researching in the National Library for over the weekend) is coming along. I have four of eight pages, and it's due tomorrow, but I have most of the day free to work on it. It's on the history of the architecture (acoustics, arrangement of seats, lighting, etc) of opera houses, using one particular Florentine theater (Teatro della Pergola) as a focus and example. It's interesting. But I would still rather go play in the sunshine than write it, which is why it got put off until the last minute.

It occurred to me that all of my paper topics this year have been... um... unusual? So far I've written papers on: straw hats, parties in the 1400s, a fresco of a saintly bishop, a disappearing physicist, zucchini (although that's technically a translation and not an essay), and now the one about opera houses. Although I guess I have a tendency to write essays about odd things anyway. Past paper topics have included an alley, school gardening at the end of the 19th century, and thrackles (a particular kind of mathematical doodle). And my very first research paper in 5th grade was about circuses.

Apropos of abosolutely nothing, I had a very excellent pairing of peanut and chocolate ice cream this afternoon. It was like a Reeses peanut butter cup, only in a cone. Or rather, in a coppa cialda, which is a cup-shaped cone. It is something I have been wishing existed for years (the ice cream never gets properly down inside regular cones, even the flat-bottomed ones), and discovered a few weeks ago in my now favorite gelateria near the Sede.

I don't remember what the original point of this post was when I sat down to write it, and it's late, so I think I will leave this as is and go to bed. Buona notte!

Make Way for Ducklings

Today was a good day for birdwatching.

I had to spend four and a half hours in the library this morning, essentially because I haven't done enough research for my final paper that's due on Wednesday.  And it's the National Library of Italy (there are actually two of them--one here and one in Rome; every time a book is published in Italy, a copy of it has to be sent to each of them), which means extra security, and it's only open until one on Saturdays, and given the standard convoluted bureaucracy of Italian libraries in general, I arranged to get there when it opened at 8:15.  In looking at the website ahead of time, I was stunned to discover that they do, in fact, let you check out books. Clicking on the link revealed further details.  Yes, absolutely you may check out books!  With some exceptions, of course.  They are as follows:

- anything published before 1935
- anything published in the last five years
- all volumes belonging to historic or special collections
- periodicals and serial publications
- government publications
- publications "a dispense"
- publications with attachments
- publications with declared limited print runs
- novels and books about hobbies
- commercial catalogues
- exposition catalogues
- musical publications
- librettos for operas
- publications with particular historic or editorial characteristics
- miscellaneous things collected into a volume; pamphlets of fewer than 50 pages
- publications with tables and illustrations outside of the text
- publications with photographs or illustrations, if there are many of them in ratio to the text
- dictionaries, encyclopedias, atlas, maps, guides, and prints
- works not printed on paper
- volumes larger than 28 cm or smaller than 15 cm
- publications inventoried as "minor material"
- all volumes that have undergone restoration
- works located in the reading rooms and indexes present in the information office
- works in precarious condition that may not be photocopied.
- any material that for some reason is shouldn't be removed from the library
- doctoral research thesis

Honestly, it probably would have been more efficient to post a list of the books that you ARE allowed to check out.  There are probably about five of them.

I gave up hope of checking anything out, and planned to arrive at 8:15 and spend the morning reading.  I got there a little early, so I sat on the wall by the Arno, munching on a rice cake, admiring the bright blue sky, and watching a heron fish for breakfast:

It was a good thing my morning started off so cheerfully.  I went to sign up for a library card, armed with my passport and an official looking letter of introduction from Smith.  I knew that there was more than one kind of card, so I asked if the card to read books was the same as the card to check them out.  I don't remember now what he said, but I took it to be a yes, or at least that he knew I need to do both and would make the appropriate arrangements.  While waiting for my card to print (after he sloooowly typed in my information with one finger), he explained to me the rules and hours (check-out is only open from 11-1, and if you miss the once-hourly submission of requests to read or check out a book, you have to wait an hour for the next one; if you request a book to read, you CAN'T decide to check it out the same day, you have to wait until the next day, and so on...).

My next stop (after making the entry security thing beep repeatedly until the guard showed me how to swipe my card first--he also pointed me in the right direction afterwards, since I probably looked overwhelmed and lost) was the front desk, where I asked a librarian whether the books on my list could be checked out or not.  Not, predictably.  Also, it was a moot point, as the card the man at the desk had given me only allowed me to read books, not check them out.  Also, one of the books was up in the Music Room, which requires yet another distinct library card.

But the Music Room I'd been to before on a field trip, so I made my way up there and--with great relief--recognized the librarian who given us the tour.  Better yet, when I told her I was from the smith class, she recognized me, and welcomed me cheerfully in, and arranged for the music room library card, and found my book for me, and generally restored my faith in Italian librarians (I had a rather disastrous trip to the University's art history library yesterday, involving a completely unhelpful librarian, and, with a few exceptions, my experiences with the librarians in the research section of the Oblate have not been positive, although the ones in the modern novels and movies section are quite friendly).

So that was a successful trip.  And then when I got home, I poked my head out my window and discovered DUCKLINGS in our torrent!

A torrent is an artificial river bed/canal sort of thing that fills up when it rains a lot, and there is one that runs under my window.  At the moment it's only a few inches deep in the middle, and dry on the edges, and a duck had decided that it was a good place to bring her ducklings (perhaps to practice?).  I think I counted 12 or 13, all paddling around, nibbling at the algae underwater, and exploring the dry bits at the edge as the whole crew migrated slowly downstream and out of sight.  Later, as I was making lunch, I heard urgent quacking through the open window, accompanied by a chorus of anguished peeping.  I leaned out the window to see what was the matter.  Mother duck, while leading her ducklings back upstream, had hopped up a little ledge where the level of the torrent bed rises a bit, and the ducklings were stuck.  The ledge is all of about two inches high, but it might as well have been the Great Wall of China for all they knew.  Finally one duckling, either particularly clever or just lucky, worked out that it could scramble up the (slightly angled) cement wall at the side of the torrent and hop onto the next level from there.  All of the other ducklings proceeded to throw themselves at the wall, scrambling up it to great (and unnecessary) heights of two feet or so and falling back down again, until one by one they managed to land on the ledge instead.  And then they picked themselves up, and the whole brood set off up stream again.  And I went back to making my lunch.

Well, this is a new one.

Giovanna just walked into the library where I was working on homework and gifted me a little baggie of cold sauteèd vegetable greens.  Possibly spinach.  But literally about two tablespoons worth.  Here, she said, we made these for dinner last night and there were leftovers--they're organic!  Oh, I said.  Um.  Thank you?

I'm used to people bringing me sad-looking plants (Emily, my plant is dying, can you fix it?), and sending me articles about nice garden projects, but this is a new one.  I mean, I do enjoy sauteéd vegetable greens (really, I do, especially with olive oil, garlic, and a bit of salt, preferably hot out of the pan and not overcooked), and these are good, or as good as cold sauteèd spinach ever is (not very) but really, should anyone make spectacular sauteèd kale or something tonight, please refrain from sticking some in an envelope and mailing it to me.  It might cause problems with customs.

Springtime, for Smithies, in Barcelona...

Rachel, Maggie, Gwen and I just spent our spring break together in Barcelona.  Gwen and Maggie and I arrived on Thursday (and Rachel arrived Saturday) to SPRING, complete with blue sky, sunshine, and pleasantly cool temperatures in the morning that warmed up to hot, short-sleeve weather by mid-afternoon.  We rented an apartment for the week, so we had our own space and our own kitchen, and discovered that between the four of us we cook really good meals.  On Friday morning I woke up around 7:45 to the sound of someone playing Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme on the accordion.  The week was off to a good start. 

Somehow, for the three days until Rachel (aka walking GPS) arrived, I got put in charge of navigation.  [I will now pause until those of you who have ever tried to go anywhere with me quit laughing and get back into your chairs.]  And I did pretty well, too, thank you very much.  Mostly.  Except for maybe Friday morning, when I meant for us to arrive at Placa Espana (and from there to the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya), lead us confidently and accurately at least half-way there, and then wound up at the port instead (ie, the wrong end of a very long boulevard).  My first clue that I'd messed up was the enormous cruise ship poking up over the top of the building.  For a minute I thought Oh look, how nice, a boat, until I pictured the map in my head, and realized that there shouldn't BE any body of water large enough to float a boat that big anywhere near Placa Espana.  I sheepishly admitted this to my friends, and at that point it was nearly lunch time, since we'd already taken several detours to peruse markets and admire palm trees, so we found a bench, ate the lunch we brought, and explored the port, as long as we were there.

I recalculated our route, and we wound along towards the art museum, detouring (intentionally) along the way to scenic viewpoints and playgrounds.  By the time we got to the museum, got up the many steps and escalators (yes, outdoor escalators) to the top, sat and listened to the guitar player there for a while, and finally arrived triumphantly at the entrance, the museum had closed.  Literally five minutes before we got there.  So we felt a little silly, but not too disappointed, because the 4+ hour ramble to get there was beautiful, and we enjoyed everything along the way.  And, since the approach to the Catalan art museum is one of the most green and gorgeous I have every seen, we wandered around it a bit more, and then wandered through the grounds of the 1992 Olympics on the hill behind it, and then found a small, shady grove with benches to nap on for ten minutes or so.  We did finally make it to the art museum the next day, and caught the fountains dancing to classical music on our way out.


We saw lots of Gaudi architecture, and I fell in love with it.  I expected to, but it was more than just the visual whimsical-ness and appeal of the architecture itself: the mosaics, the stained glass, the sculpture-y curves, the spiral staircases, the natural light, and all the honey-colored wood and shades of blue at Casa Batlò (which was my favorite).  What I didn't realize was that he wasn't just an architect; he was something of an engineer and an inventor.  He thought about the practicality and comfort of everything: the brass doorhandles were molded to fit his (and therefore most people's) hand naturally, and the doors and walls had shuttering vents built in that you could open or close to allow or block the flow of warm/cold air.  In the central air/light well at Casa Batlò, he made the tiles at the top a gradually more vivid shade of blue than those lower down, so that when it is lit up by bright sunlight, the shades of blue appears consistent from top to bottom.  It was simultaneously whimsical, mathematical, and incredibly satisfying not just to my eye, but also to touch (the banisters were also shaped to naturally fit your hand).

The whole week was filled with street preformers: a very talented accordion player who drifted from one improvised, melancholy melody to the next, and originally fooled us into thinking he was a distant church organ; a flamenco dancer on a piece of plywood, making it up as he went along, accompanied by a friend drumming on a plywood box.  We also kept running into other Smithies, since at least half the JYA Florence crew wound up spending at least of few days of their break in Barcelona.  On Friday evening, after tapas for dinner with Camilla and Allison (two other Florence Smithies), we stumbled on a Good Friday procession, complete with giant religious floats carried on the shoulders of about 12 people under the curtain around the base; the floats rocked gently side to side as they moved veeeeerry sloooowly down the street, making the candles flicker and the fringe sway.

On Easter we woke up to pouring rain (after a gloriously sunny Good Friday: isn't that kind of backwards?), and, after sitting in on a bit of the mass (in Catalan) in what we had by then started to think of as "our" Cathedral (because it was so close to our apartment), we spent the grey, rainy morning in the Catalan history museum, which was an interactive ramble through Catalan history from prehistoric times up through the present--and also free, since it was the first sunday of the month.   Always a plus.  When we left the museum, the clouds had cleared up completely, and we were able to have our Easter picnic in Parc Guell (Gaudi's park) after all--along with about half of Barcelona.  Apparently it's the thing to do.  We spent a few blissful hours lounging on the grass in the sun and dappled shade, with a picnic that included:

- Sandwiches (build your own with ingredients of your choice from: bread, salami, thinly sliced onions, unidentified but delicious cheese, fresh avocado, olive oil, salt, pepper, oregano, mushrooms, and tomatoes)
- Strawberries, oranges, rice cakes and strawberry jam, marshmallow peeps, Easter Snails (candied jelly, not actual snails), water, and a bottle of fruit juice we picked up on the way.

After which naps were in order.

We packed it up just in time.  As we were starting to wander the rest of the park, Rachel noticed an increasingly ominous bank of deep, deep blue-black clouds rolling in FAST out of nowhere, so we climbed quickly up to see the view from the highest point, and then beat a hasty retreat back down and out of the park, accompanied by about half of Barcelona.  We didn't quite make it to the metro stop before the sky opened up, so the metro was packed with hoards of soggy but cheerful picnickers.

It was  a good spring break.

Pictures are here:

Barcelona