Ceci

Ceci are chickpeas. I’ve pulled up the first drying out plants to dry them out some more. This ( along with the vines, the olives, the tomatoes outdoors, the figs and the peppers) is one of the biggest thrills of my gardening life in Tuscany. I don’t know where I thought chickpeas came from but I didn’t think I would ever grow them. It turns out it’s not hard but just a bit laborious. Like, in fact, so many things.

Later I went off to the Co-op (it’s pronounced cop with a long o here in the adverts). Bought a load of basics for the coming storm. Cases are rising again, it seems largely from people returning from aboard. But friends report the coast is rammed. And radio reported 27km q at the Monte Bianco tunnel today - the black day (bollino nero) for travelling in Italy.

My mum died four months ago today, which would have been her 90th birthday. An August child she was full of the optimism of summer as if it would last forever.

We had a five way zoom - her children - after the vicissitudes of her internet funeral. It was in its way a healing moment, a gathering of disparate spirits united by our mutual bonds to her and each other despite all else.