But did my muse come with me?
I’m back from my trek to Venice with the Love of My Life (LOML). We rode gondolas and water taxis, ate the requisite pasta, wallowed in vino rosso, and gaped at insane amounts of art and artifacts both ancient and, in the case of Peggy Guggenheim, modern. After Venice we took two days at a vineyard inn to recharge. LOML went on a tour of planting, viticulture etc. while I soaked up sun, green spaces and scenery, irritated only by some very noisy peacocks. (Since they had no peahens the boys were understandably irritable). It appeared to be the spot where the muse had hidden herself. I polished off “In Venice and the Veneto with Lord Byron,” and made notes on that regency novella set in Venice, and sketched out some plot adjustments on the holiday novella that had refused to cooperate before I left. We then wandered off to Ravenna and I let Justinian, Theodoric and the 6th century distract me. A quick stop in Ferrara to gape at Lucretia Borgia’s castle and two nights in Padua soaking in late medieval art and architectures. LOML and I overdosed that last day. I couldn’t bear to view one more 12-14th century Madonna painting after the city museum in Padua. (Somehow I never get enough of the Byzantine mosaics in Ravenna)
I came home with my notes, olive oil and a pile of small mementos and gifties. I believe the muse came back with me, and I hope she puts in an appearance once I get her unpacked. Time will tell.