Every morning in Italy Glen and I sat down to a breakfast that was Buonissimo, a veritable feast of everything breakfasty (though after day three I reverted to my bowl of raisin bran [they had that too] and ? cream [that was the one thing I missed about the U.S. -milk- I am after all from the dairy state] for fear I would no longer fit into any of my clothes). Afterward I’d wave goodbye to all the guys as they left to attend their classes for the day. Returning to my room I’d gather my paint brushes, palette, pad of watercolor paper, a 10×14 plastic WARNING sign (it was the lightest thing I could think of to bring on the plane) with a sheet of watercolor paper taped to it that I’d prepared the night before, and a tiny plastic cup. Stuffing a couple Kleenex tissues into my pocket I’d set off through town to find my subject for the day. But first I’d make a stop at the hotel front desk for a bottle of acqua (no gas), and then further into town at the Pessina (a store/market barely bigger than our living rooms here) to pick a lovely golden apple from one of the bushel baskets against the wall.
This was my spot for the third day.