Day 47: Under the Tuscan clouds and rain.

So I am driving through central Italy. I bought an adapter which turns 12V DC into 115V AC. The non-technical people may also need to be told that 12V DC is the standard voltage in a car and 115V AC or actually 110V is the standard in a house. Why am I telling you this? Because I want everyone to realize that this blog is being penned at 120 km/hr, and I am driving. OK, that isn’t completely true. It is more like 130 km/hr. The adapter is necessary to allow me to plug my computer in and not run off of battery.

We just left the Italian Province of Tuscany. “Under the Tuscan Sun”, “The English Patient” and other movies are set in this region. If you think of the classic Italian scene, the old lady on the second story window, shaking her rug out onto a narrow cobblestone alley, you think of Tuscany. Am I boring everyone with the repetitious descriptions? Beautiful, magnificent, marvelous, glorious, exquisite, wonderful, amazing, awesome, superb, breathtaking, spectacular, fabulous, brilliant, awe inspiring. Need I go on? That is Italy. Even now, I am torn between putting to words the emotions I am having and continuing to gaze out at the countryside.

Just now I stopped and took some pictures of the clouds. I know they will not turn out; car pictures never truly capture the full spectrum of the original. These clouds, beyond my vocabulary to describe, typify everything that is around me. Mom did a great job of describing the buildings. And I quote, “The reddish, dirt, stone, square bricky things.” Better than any of mine.

To my right, up on the hill top stands a collection of buildings. They are obviously abandoned and I couldn’t tell you for how long, but it is that mystery that is a part of making this land so, well mysterious. History has never been my strong point, so I won’t even begin to try to sound smarter than I am. (I read this this morning, Prov 17:28 – “Even a fool when he keeps silent is considered wise. When he closes his lips, he is considered prudent.” My translation is, “Remain silent and be thought a fool, speak and remove all doubt.”)

Here is the scene. It is a gray, drizzly Italian afternoon. Cruising along (A1) Autostrada del Sole, ancient stone “bricky things” dotted everywhere. Nora Jones serenading softly over the radio.

Come away with me in the night.
Come away with me and I will write you a song.

Come a way with me on a bus.
Come away where they can’t stand us with their lies

And I want to walk with you, on a cloudy day, in fields where the yellow grass grows knee high, so won’t you try to come.

Come away with me and well kiss on a mountain top.
Come away with me and I’ll never stop loving you.

And I want to wake up with the rain falling on a tin roof, while I am safe there in your arms so what I ask is for you to,

Come away with me in the night.
Come away with me.

I could die today and know that God is good.

I can see why His “Holy Catholic Church” set up shop here. Sorry Texas, sorry West Virginia, THIS is God’s country.

Well, I have buried my head long enough. If I keep this up, I will miss the drive into Roma. Also, I need to get back to Slovakia, though I have to admit that I have already forgotten a lot of what I was going to say. That is probably why I am not a writer.

Until then and tomorrow.

Jason