Diary from the set, part II

Today I am one year older than yesterday. It doesn't feel any different. Unless you count the apricot-sized lump in my throat every time I softly pronounce age to self. Looking in the mirror, I can see the expression lines creeping around my eyes. Too many smiles have left their mark. A handful of silver threads in my hair and my pear-shaped body remind me every day that the spring season is ending, my oak leaves turning tawny.

But not today. Today I feel young and free. Lighthearted and happy. I am with a special boy who grabs my hand and kisses my cheek at the supermarket. He picks out the mortadella from the deli counter and decides for the olive oil crackers, I smell the melons and teach him the word "ananas," Italian for pineapple.

He's becoming too heavy for the seat behind the handlebar, and I had to give in to purhcasing a plastic Pluto doll, despite the fact we have one already. E's eyes sparkle in the Roman sunlight and the warm wind toustles his fine ash blond hair. he looks up at me and says, ero triste mamma, finalmente sei qui - I was sad, mommy, finally you're here.

Am I or not the luckiest birthday girl alive?


Whenever I flush the toilet, the pipes play a deep trombone note that wakes my entire floor. The new hotel is closer to the new filming locations and thankfully doesn't smell like smoke. It is curiously however somehow connected by some bizarre vent system, to the kitchen. So this morning my acute sense of smell was not tickled by coffee and warm croissants but rather by yesterday's minestrone. Not exactly the best wake up call. As I said, not all that glitters is gold. The movie business, and all things connected to it, housing arrangements and food included, can get quite stank at times like these.

It's hard to go back to basics and live in a place with no wireless connection, poor cell reception and cable TV. I've always dreamt of the benefits of living the simple life, but now I can't blog nor be reachable other that on the 3-star hotel land line. Having left my small child in the care of my elderly osteoporotic mother and a non-native nanny, phone communication makes me feel safer. It also cuts down on the guilt factor if I can call my son and coo for a few minutes listening to his stories of lions, dragons and powerful diggers.

The crew's been scattered among 3 different hotels varying in distance from the locations. I’m 5km away, some are a 10-minute drive away, some have to travel a half-hour. But the inverse proportion is closer-crappier, distant-deluxe. For some reason I got stuck with the former. The fun, younger crowd is enjoying saunas and excellent meals 50km away. I'm writing this not sure I can post it before I return home on Friday. And the food here has yet to jolt my tastebuds out of apathy.

Sermoneta, castle 

Yestarday's rain and curvy roads to get here added nausea to the chill.

But this is what must be done, this is what it means to work as a single parent. I'm the breadwinner. The working girl. The sole provider. I’m so tired and worn out, though. I'd like to be home now, snuggled up to my sleeping child and not here in a squallid hotel, with torn towels and noisy pipes. I don't care for luxury, I don't mind the smell after all, I'm easy and I'm flexible. But sometimes I feel I'm giving so much more than I'm getting back. And right now the lonliess and lack of love is making me cry.

The shower towel in my bathroom...

I have to pack my script bag and shlep it to set now, because the call time is on. Today we shoot in a Medieval abbey, I'll take pictures and hopefully post them in my next update.

Ciao.