bows of happiness

“Three things remain to us from paradise: Stars, flowers, and children.”

This enchanting statement is often attributed to Dante Alighieri; I regret to say that no evidence supports this.  So rather than waste time grappling amongst a thousand footnotes for the truth let’s agree that the very talented Anon. wrote it.

It came to mind because of Sophie’s arrival across the canal from us on January 4.  I don’t know her; I haven’t seen (and, strange to say, haven’t even heard) her.  I only know that she’s a new neighbor and she has brought joy with her.

So in the spirit of Anon.’s poetic observation, here are a few glimpses over the years of these particular remnants of paradise scattered around here.  Flowers and stars will follow.

CHILDREN

What a lovely thing to see when one looks out the front door.

I’m always on the lookout for the welcome ribbons.  Pink for girls, blue for boys, as you know.  They always make me feel a bounce of hope.

Twins!
More twins!  That was certainly a lively Christmas at their house.

Sant’ Erasmo welcomes Federico.

I think her name is Roberta, but the big message is strung over the street. “E’ nata!” She’s born!

INTERLUDE: A summer stroll around Pellestrina, August 7, 2022.   I was there on a typically sweltering summer Sunday to watch the annual local Venetian rowing races.  With at least two hours to spare, I had plenty of time to lollygag.  This was not at all my first time to this lagoon outpost of some 3,000 souls, so I wasn’t expecting surprises.

But surprised I was, to discover that the Stork had been working overtime.  The number of ribbons I found tied to so many houses seemed almost like some sort of game.  I won’t hazard any theories as to why a regiment of births had marched through this modest municipality in early August, though I’d like to know what had happened during the preceding November.  Massive power outage — no TV but lots of candles?  A village-wide festival of wine or grappa that got out of hand?  Did a whole cohort make some crazy bet?  Is it a cult?  Articles continually come out lamenting Italy’s falling birth rate.  Maybe they should come to Pellestrina and test the water?

This certainly cuts off the question “What are you going to name him?” Enea (eh-NAY-uh) is the Italian version of Aeneas, the Trojan warrior for whom The Aeneid is titled. A lot to live up to. I couldn’t even live up to this gate.
I notice that white ribbons from a wedding are also attached to the gate.  Probably just coincidence.
One single bow seems a little sad somehow, compared to the extravagance of the other families. But wait!  Another white bow?  Has Pellestrina — or maybe the parish priest — gone mad?

Statistics reveal that typically more boys are born than girls, but Pellestrina appears to be taking the situation far too seriously.
You don’t even have to write a book — the whole story is right out in the open here.  It looks like the set of a comic opera when the curtain rises.  Those two babies are doomed (by their mothers, obviously) to marry.  Either that or one of them escapes destiny by fleeing to the South Seas to become a pirate.

Years ago I read a little report in the Gazzettino.  The parish priest of Pellestrina — I’m pretty sure that’s where he was — had just happily celebrated the baptism of a new arrival.  And he asked, “Why do we ring the church bells only when someone dies? We ought to ring them too when a baby is born.”

He’s not wrong.

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seize the tomato

Who knew that three small cans could be a social experiment?

The young man in the Coop supermarket yesterday was either a new kind of tourist, or a new kind of young man, or some prototype of either that I earnestly hope doesn’t move to the production phase.

It was simple, brief, insignificant encounter.  Now that I think of it, the moment could have made a moderately useful sketch for first-year acting students.

But we weren’t acting, we (including him) were just living our own banal little lives, stuck in the narrow, crowded aisle amid bottles of olive oil, cans of tuna, and containers of tomatoes in almost every form (the tomatoes, I mean) — tubes of dense concentrate, bottles of thick liquid passata, or puree; cans of tomatoes peeled or pulped.  Strange, now that I think of it, that tomato juice was missing.

Anyway, it’s always a challenge to shop in peak tourist season, and going late Saturday afternoon is just asking for trouble.  Not only does everybody suddenly realize they have to get yogurt or potato chips or a bag of lemons or 8 six-packs of beer or whatever right then, but it being winter, everybody is taking up twice their space thanks to their bulky down jackets.  Especially that tall, strapping young man with his back turned to me.

There was only one package left of three small cans of polpa, and it was far back on the top shelf.  Bonus points because at that spot there is a small ramp and I was halfway down the incline, so I had no chance of reaching it myself.  But I came for the polpa and I intended to get it.

Cue the tall, strapping young man!  Destiny calls!  You haven’t reached this height and weight just to waste time training for the varsity clean and jerk.  Fate has placed you between a high shelf and a small woman and if you mess with fate you’re doomed to live the last act of “The Flying Dutchman” forever.  I guess that’s a little redundant.

Did I mention he was German?  Nothing against Germans, honestly, but somehow it matters.  It went like this:

Me (one tap on very high shoulder).

He turns around.  So far, so normal.

Puoi tirare giu’ quello?” (pointing to distant object).

“I don’t speak Italian.”  English, German accent.

“Could you pull that down for me?”  In most of the civilized world — I use the term loosely — that’s generally regarded as a rhetorical question.  But here I get a sublimely literal answer.

“Why?  I don’t work here.”  Completely serious.  I already knew that he didn’t work here — it’s the “Why?” that haunts me.  I will always regret not having thought to say “Neither do I.”  Instead I just said “Do me a favor?”  I’m so lame.

He reached up and pulled it down.  Turned away.  Moved on.

I started to laugh, it was so ridiculous.  I hope he heard me.

And so now I dream of Germany, where life is beautiful all the time, you obey the law, follow the rules, stay in your lane, where life is constructed entirely of square pegs and round holes which always fit in their correct and corresponding spaces.  This young man must feel like he’s come to a madhouse, here in Italy.

Still, he did leave me a present.  “Why?  I don’t work here” now sits in a very pretty little crystal box in my mind where I can admire it whenever I need a little boost.

Good thing I didn’t ask him to reach me down one of these.
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a farewell to Christmas

“Merry Christmas” in pure gold leaf beaten by Marino Menegazzo, the last man in Europe who beat gold entirely by hand. Stefania Dei Rossi’s shop “Oro e Disegni” has plenty of beautiful golden things but the sentiment here is 24 karat.

Naturally I intended to get this out before Christmas, but Christmas itself tangled me up.  (Pretty bold move to blame an entire holiday for my own lapses.)  Still, I wanted to squeak this into the calendar before 2025 reaches its expiration date.

Just a few glimpses of what I saw as I wandered around.  Seems like the holiday was composed mainly of scraps, but they were good scraps.

Heartfelt best wishes to everyone for a peaceful, healthy, safe, nutritionally balanced, philosophically harmonious 2026.

Rio di Sant’Anna looking toward via Garibaldi. The fog helps.
Paolo Brandolisio’s forcola workshop has taken a frivolous twist. The forcola now looks like a duck but he gets extra points for making it work.
Speaking of frivolity, I bet you’ll wish your house had a Nativity scene arranged inside a monster pasta shell. Someone at the Rizzo shop at San Giovanni Grisostomo deserves admiration and probably also a raise.
The fish market at Rialto makes the most of its fishing traps at Christmas.
Some bright spark at the Coop supermarket had some spare time, some spare paint and the real Christmas spirit.
While we’re on the classic color scheme, let me offer this unidentifiable fruit in a decoction known as mostarda. Nobody cares what it looks like, what people (like me) love is the way its white-mustard-laced syrup is lying in wait to attack your mouth and throat and sinuses. The tiniest bite of this innocuous-looking candied fruit sets off a pyroclastic flow from your throat to your brain. They say it’s intended to aid digestion, but what happens on the way there is what matters.  You have sinus trouble?  Take a bite of this and you won’t have them to worry about anymore, they’ll be gone.
And while we’re on the subject of digestion… These bags, which need no introduction, have been sold in Christmas colors. I have no idea who put these here (of course they’re not supposed to be left on the street), but whoever it may have been has a real sense of humor.
I get my boxes of tissues at the Coop, and their Christmas version is very nice. But why did they only put this out on the shelves AFTER Christmas? Lino says they’re trying to clear out the holiday stuff and of course I get that. I just don’t understand why this holiday stuff was never seen before Christmas. So many questions…..
One of the prettiest window sills ever.  And the person who created this scene has more faith in humanity than, honestly, I ever will.
At the Rialto market this sign on the door explained why the Osteria I Compari was closed.
“Running off …  Maria is born!!! Closed because of happiness.” Nothing to do with Christmas but everything to do with gladness of heart and I want everybody to bask in this.
The Arsenale entrance — minimal but basically tells the whole story.
Instead of leaves there are lights in front of Nevodi. I like it a lot.
Via Garibaldi in holiday mode. Even the women’s bags are red and green. Fun fact: People in the center are walking on a filled-in canal — the edges of which are marked by the white strips along the sides.
I don’t know which are lovelier — the lights inside or out. I’m going to say “inside,” but they do work well together.
Last year there were lots of little angels fluttering above the creche in front of the church of San Francesco di Paola. This year there are flags. The story here pretty much tells itself.
Until a few days ago the cakes in the window at Melita, Mario the pastry-maker’s shop, were about Christmas. All at once (and the countdown has begun) they’re all about New Year. “Buon Anno 2026.” Chocolate huts with chocolate chimneys are absolutely what this world needs more of.
There is also a small but aggressive assortment of cakes that have abandoned the innocent greeting in favor of apocalyptic Lord-of-the-Rings shards of Theobroma cacao. Not sure if you’re supposed to eat it or vanquish it.
The moon didn’t want to set that morning in early December. It hung on till nearly 8:00, then the clouds crept over it and ordered it to go shine on someone else.

 

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we all need more fiber

Specifically, fiber optic cable.

Fiber optic cable is no newcomer to Venice — we’ve had it at home for years now.  But clearly our neighborhood is on track for extreme upgrading to intergalactic ultra-fast ultra-wide broadband.  Venice might give the impression (briefly, from afar, with your eyes half-closed) of a city left adrift in the backwash of the Renaissance.  Yet men have been hard at work these past few days making Venice ever more modern.  And I say thanks, but Venice has always been modern.

Behold the mighty Root Cable 185 from Tratos.  The company’s website says that it has been “specifically designed for network and telecommunications uses, and is characterized by a high transmission velocity and low attenuation, making it ideal for long-distance connections and broadband applications.”  Impressive, but simpler things also impress me, such as the chance (I missed) to watch the procedure of hoisting this monster onto the fondamenta. It does inspire new admiration for the skill and effort that numberless men dedicated to creating Venice (looking at you, Doge’s Palace, belltower of San Marco, etc.).  No motors, hydraulic power, and so on.  Of course, the ancient Egyptians and Greeks and Romans didn’t have them either, and they also managed to build phenomenal things, so let’s get over ourselves.
All this work to install the means by which we can send our million daily messages and memes and photos to everybody we know.  But what I really like right here is how much red is going on.
There’s a lot happening under all that stone.  At this stage it looks like they’re operating on the city’s deviated septum.
Bridges don’t just carry you, they carry cables and wires and ducts.  Keep an eye on that loose slab of stone.
This is a master-class in bridge-building and -repairing in Venice.
Back to the bridge of Sant’Anna.  Those four open canal-side windows belong to a charming little apartment for tourists.  I’m just wondering if the visitors talked about anything else than how their romantic Venetian vacation turned out.  The jackhammers really went at it.
The romantic-apartment front door is on the right, just before the pile of mud.  I mean the bridge.

Today progress in Venice takes so many forms, though by now they’re not what you might call surprising or original.  But over the centuries Venice became rich and powerful in large part because it was alert to innovation of many different sorts.

On the social side, the Venetian government passed a law in 1258 requiring doctors, even the most illustrious, to treat poor patients for free.  Shocking then, perhaps still somewhat startling.  In 1443 the government guaranteed the services of a lawyer to poor defendants at no charge; the lawyer would be chosen by a judge from among the best lawyers in Venice (no fobbing the case off on your newest recruit) and was required to follow the case with maximum care or risk a large fine.  That’s become normal, I think, in concept if not in practice.  I don’t know about fines today, though.

On the commercial side, the Venetians established the Patent Statute on March 19, 1474, now considered the earliest codified patent system in the world.  These patents were granted for “any new and ingenious device, not previously made,” provided it was useful.

However “useful” may have been defined, suddenly useful was everywhere: Between 1500 and 1600 Venice granted 593 patents.  (In the same period the Kingdom of France granted 100.)  By 1788, Venice had certified 1896 patents.

Speaking of useful, pharmacists were forbidden to sell their medicines without a doctor’s prescription.  If this is normal now, credit goes to the old Venetians to whom quality control was an obsession.  Maybe they loved quality for itself, but control ensured that their myriad products were not only good, but reliable, hence valuable.  It was always all about money.

A zecchino minted between 1779 – 1789 for Paolo Renier, the next to last doge of Venice.  (photo seen on eBay, coin for sale by Giamer Antiques and Collectibles)

No, they didn’t invent money.  But the Venetian gold ducat, later called the zecchino, became arguably the closest thing to what you might call a monetary “gold standard” for 500 years.  The coin maintained a consistent weight (approximately 24 carats) and high gold purity (99.7 percent) from 1284 to 1797.  Venice’s strong trading network ensured the zecchino’s circulation throughout the Mediterranean and beyond, from the Netherlands to India.  It is the only coin in the world that retained, for the over five centuries of its uninterrupted existence, the same images, the same epigraphs, the same weight and the same purity of the metal.  I sometimes complain that in Venice money is king, but that’s freaking impressive.

Back to fiber optic cables.  Ninety percent of Venice and its satellite towns and hamlets are served by FTTC connections, while 79 percent has FTTH and the by-now quaint but still serviceable ADSL covers 99 percent.  If you’d like to know more, here’s Open Fiber.

So progress jackhammers on.  The bridge has been left with scars from the intervention, because there are rectangles of cement where stone used to be and I cannot understand it.  We have ultra-fast broadband, but we also still have people who just carry things off, things that aren’t even theirs.  Doesn’t feel like progress to me.

Remember that stone slab that was moved aside to allow access to the innards of the bridge? It, and its companions, are obviously gone.  I have no idea where, or for what reason.  There was stone, now there is only cement.  You might suppose that the supervisors decided it was prudent to make future access simpler/cheaper/faster/easier by not bothering with that pesky stone anymore.  And yet….
And yet, the stones at the summit of the bridge were put back where they belonged.  But the others?
The same fate befell the stones on the Sant’Anna side of the bridge. True, the steps are still uniformly grayish, so it’s not that they draw undue attention to themselves, and yes, the cement on these steps is smoother and looks less homemade than on the other side.  That’s not the point, of course.

I started this post with glowing eyes looking toward the future, and I indulged myself by recalling a smattering of examples of Venetian greatness.  But here we are today.  You’ve got your interstellar communications cables, and you’ve got steps now made of concrete where a week ago there was stone.

It’s easy to see the seam between stone and concrete. Happily for everyone, you can also see that dogs don’t care.  Or was that a lynx?
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