When Life gives you Lemons

When life gives you lemons ... make lemon marmalade. The English College garden has three lemon trees that give a good amount of fruit. But as the students are away and correspondingly Gin & Tonic consumption is down this fruit was is danger of being left to rot. So having a little more time on my hands than normal I made lemon marmalade. I annually make marmalade from the oranges that grow in the parks and colleges so I knew the drill , but it was satisfying nonetheless. 

It’s the kind of thing lots of people are doing. Enda, my flatmate, has begun a sourdough since lockdown and is now turning out a couple of loaves every few days. So when we get to the breakfast table after our 7am Mass we have homemade bread and marmalade with fresh Italian coffee- it is the best. 

It is interesting how quickly one adapts, falls into a new routine, and, in an odd way, how comfortable it all becomes: run at 6, Mass at 7, breakfast and to work ... in my sitting room. Lunch at 1:30, back to work, prepare dinner, maybe some more exercise, dinner and read or social media and bed. 

I do miss being outside especially now that spring is breaking out all over. New leaves are appearing on the trees and there is fresh growth on the jasmines. But one learns to make as much as possible of what is to be seen from the windows of the flat. The chair I sit in to read normally faces into the room, but I’ve now turned it to face the window to catch every bit of light and life that passes the window. I love the window opposite with its cracked and crumbling cornice. I love the way the sun catches it down the narrow street from about 9 till 11 in the morning. Sometimes a nun will open the window to shake out a tablecloth, and sometimes all the windows are thrown open when the floors are being mopped. I’m getting to know the habits of the nuns opposite (sorry for the pun) and occasionally they acknowledge me with a wave or a smile. 

So I suppose I notice more of what is around me and without trying to be too worthy about it, I do find myself growing in affection for these familiar things as I get to know them better. I get a ridiculous amount of pleasure from the cyclamen on the kitchen windowsill (the only one of a ton of plants to have survived more than a few months in this position) and the mint and basil beside it. I now know that the afternoon sun will reach the gap between the convent opposite and the church of San Girolamo at about 4pm and shine through my window for 30 minutes. I spend a fair bit of time standing at my window, computer or book on the window ledge, so that I catch whatever life passes along the street. Looking down the street towards the French Embassy, I’ve learned that Italian soldiers smoke on duty. Perhaps they’re like Armstrong and Miller’s WWII airmen, insisting that it would be against their human rights not to, and they’ve got a note and everything. 

I’m also lucky to be able to go into the English college and use its garden and its roof terrace. These mean that I can at least be outside, and it gives the chance for a little bit of extra exercise. The views across the roofs are brilliant. If I’m there for midday I can see the noonday gun being fired with a puff of smoke on the Janiculum.

The last thing I’ll share is that I’ve addressed one of those tasks I’ve been meaning to do for years but would probably never have got round to: I’ve cleared away all the old herbs and spices from generations of flat occupants before me, and I’ve rationalised into appropriately-sized, labelled jars my own spices and cooking ingredients, and arranged them so that the things I use most regularly are nearest at hand. Altogether not a bad life, a life of blameless domesticity I’d say. 

(Some of the photos are from my run before the hour went on and it was light at 6am.)