for some esoteric reason, i decide today is the day, the perfect day, to shovel all the chicken shit out of the coop. It takes a mere 2 hours, during which I manage to catch an ordure rebound to the face at least twice, paving the way for that special home-cooked botulism I've so coveted. A trip to the Narni grocery store takes us past a beautiful medieval church on it's own finger promontory, surrounded by dozing olive groves. Each hamlet we pass has at least one of these intimate churches, and each has it's own mass. There are priests that lead services for as many as 12 neighboring churches each week. For the purpose of this narrative, I'd like to imagine them on scooters. An old, solitary bent man on an even more unstraight ladder prunes an olive tree, while his dog barks at imaginary priests on scooters. I can only assume, being that there are several dozen trees remaining, that he must finish on the leaves of the last just in time to begin again on the first.We bake bread in the afternoon, and as the team leaders venture off for the evening, ours consists of sponge bath, sex, and warmth being that we can abscond with the epic kerosine heater. We end the evening with battlestar galactica season 1 finale and sleep.
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