[big round building in the neighborhood. I confess to endless fascination with how its appearance changes in various lights]
Before I say anything else today, I want to thank David and Stacey for inviting me to spend some time here this week. It's been a lot of fun, and I hope it's been as enjoyable for you to read as it has been for me to write. Grazie mille!
So, it seems that my constant reflection on "translation" this week has begun to influence all of my thinking. Isn't it funny the way life imitates art when you have an idea like that buzzing around in your brain? We've just had our pranzo, which was a simple frittata made with potatoes, onions, and red peppers. But as I was cooking, and thinking about what I was going to write today, I realized that our lunch was really just a translation into Italian of many of the egg dishes I've learned to cook along the way. To wash it down, we had a pretty decent Hungarian wine (a tokaji), which Damiano bought as part of his ongoing but temporary quest to find good, reasonable wines at one nearby supermarket that's actually OPEN during these last days of August. He uncorked it, we sniffed, a nice light flowery thing going on, so far so good. After the first sip, I said, "ah, an immodest little white wine," yet another sign that our work on translating John Ashbery will likely continue to influence our synaptic activity for quite some time. But that, as they say, couldn't be better!