Reservation for 30, Per Favore

I've become so accustomed to dining in the presence of artists, that I forget how interesting it is. When the group gets together on Thursday nights for the restaurant dinners (as opposed to the Tuesday night buffet and artist talk), we often have long tables covered with paper table "cloths."  If the tablecloths are not paper, these kids find other ways of expressing themselves with pen, pencil or crayon.

Sometimes they draw each other, sometimes elaborate "hand turkeys," sometimes just the surrounding neighborhood. I sat across from a student whose final project is going to be signage, so she practiced drawing all the signs around us, which were many because our tables were on a busy shopping street.

This is how we were greeted—a big surprise because this restaurant has very limited outdoor seating, under an arch, so we usually have to be split up. They had blocked off part of the street with potted trees and created an additional outdoor dining area for us.

For years, we interpreted a sentence on the menu to mean, "food like your grandmother used to make." But tonight we learned Nonna really does make the food!  And here she is (top left, in case it's not obvious!).

I took only one photo of one student's artwork, but following are other photos of this night, which Fred asked me to take because my camera is better than his—at night, especially.

Charlotte loves the students and they, her,
but she was particularly drawn to Natalie.
I wonder why? :)

Carlo. He's the man.

Dino drawing.

Shelby, the signage expert!

Ciao, Bella!

Everyone Tolerates a Parade

Two years ago, when we were staying in the same apartment we're in this year, we discovered we were on a parade route. Every July 16, it starts from a church in the nearby San Pellegrino medieval area, and winds around the city streets. Last year, Henry got stuck coming home from class and couldn't get down our street. This year, Owen's class watched it from school.

Everyone comes out on the balcony and watches. People drag out their chairs and wait for it, and then stare, seemingly critically, smile-less, as the procession goes by. We smile, of course.

Kelly, Fred & Henry on the balcony. We do smile.

Mrs. Kravitz smiles, too, actually. A lot. 

Mrs. Kravitz's cat is a little alarmed when the marching band can be heard in the distance.

The locals.

My girls.

Luigi, get your ass out here. It's starting.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

The very first to come 'round the bend was this guy. A lone accordion player. Barely audible, to boot. 

She's a legit parader. 

And so it begins.

There's not a ton to say about this parade. Fred said it's a somber look they have on their faces (the participants) but I interpreted it as boredom or indifference. I hope he's right. It is a religious affair, after all.

Some of them carry these big things, some don't. One guy carries a sound system, which doesn't ever work very well.

More too good not to share.

Must be the local politicians. Love the hand gestures.

Would love to know what's up.

Men in Capes.

And at the very end, the townspeople come out and follow!

At the very end, the woman on the next balcony over (aka Mrs. Kravitz) looked at us, shrugged, and said, "It is the same every time."