Dateline Milna: Sunday Update

The Sunday church bells ring out transubstantiation, while the Brando-(barbe)que has undergone an Ovidian metamorphosis and now most closely resembles the walls of Troy, stacked neatly behind my little garden shed.  My near-daily baptismal in the Italianated waters of the August Adriatic has rendered me no more pure of heart and yet has been some balm.  At last nights fashion show, I crowded the balustrade with the children and young mothers, watching the skinny models sweep and twirl up and down the marble stairs to an raucous amplified throb.  Almir has taken the autobus in the early morning's caffeination  and I look about in dismay at a whole house to clean before Julia returns.    Instead, I nap.  The caper plant on my patio wall has put out a single delicate white and purple bloom.  Today I have Sunday dinner -- wonderful stuffed peppers at Slavko and Nada's –  and tomorrow perhaps we go to Solin and deal in the magic of cable and power in his new house, looking out at the sun-scorched stone of the Dinaric Alps.