Chartreuse Comfort

I'm writing this post tonight because I had one of those moments. Lame that I put that in italics, but there's no way to connotate tone otherwise. 

Cross-legged atop a chartreuse-clad three-seater couch with ornate wood detailing, complemented by two armchairs circled around an equally ornate yet rim-stained coffee table. 

Pause writing. Gianmarco has to "show me something amazing."

Resume writing. "Something amazing" was this, but just the remake or tribute part. Good tunes, though. If I can find the music video that showed the band, I'll update this link. Enjoy that tidbit. 

We have a fire roaring (that I made, not to toot my own horn, but I'm getting the hang of doing it regularly), I'm sporting a ratty sweatshirt with "Vieques" in white block across the front, a bottle of Montepulciano open and decanted in a vase with toucans and hibiscus dancing across it's width. In it's blackened metal box, the fireplace matches the color of Niccolo's tapestry, a striped orange and yellow background with striking, almost Celtic-like mandala detailing. We just finished with Mauro for our order of a third load of firewood for the impending winter season. I've pulled out a block of asiago gifted from a friend's boyfriend's cheese shop, a knife, and a handful of sweet grissini-like swirls. Fireside, I'm catching up on Destination Anthropocene by Amelia Moore. Gianmarco is on a call with a friend back in Rome, Nico is toughing out a head cold and sipping on tea listening to Jonas' show-and-tell of the bottles of wine he got from work. 

Soup nights are becoming quite regular here. Tonight, a "granny soup" al Gianmarco - add sofrito, add grains, add olive oil, add more veggies, and - oh, a chunk of parmigiano-reggiano rind to cook it all down. Although my bowl was prized and blessed with the presence of the chunk o' cheese, I learned the hard way that it must be consumed with the soup and best not left for last, for all you'll be left with is cold, hardened rind and a broken heart. 

Being the warmest room in the house at the moment, we've all gotten into the routine of settling in this space nightly. Someone cooks, someone rolls a spliff, someone puts on music, someone's reading or doing work, another is on a call, maybe tea is made once, twice. 

At night, we drop the metal shutters outside the windows to keep any heat from emanating outside. Lighting appears as flames or lamps, or from the oven exhaust. A vague shade between dark yellow and light orange envelops this space after the sun goes down, the wooden cabinetry and orange and brown tiles completing the aesthetic. In a way, it feels like we've unintentionally replicated the sun in our common room. This space is not merely occupied, it's inhabited.

Pure content. Surreal, frankly; it's the stuff of day dreams and "I'd rather be" scenarios when you're stuck in traffic or at the DMV. 

This is one of those moments.