genova, scythe and mangle

i just spent a wonderful long weekend in genova with r. i tried to see myself living there, in a country house surrounded by cypress trees and olive groves, with a vespa and a fiat in the drive way, and a small country lane connecting us to the nearest village.
not a bad thought.
now back in london, surrounded by noisy hedge cutters and sirens. i think about the ways my grandparents spent their days, and the things they did that even people of my generation will not have heard or seen. my grandfather used to go out and cut the grass around town, with his scythe and a wooden cart for the grass, which he would then feed to the rabbits he bred. sometimes we would have one of those rabbits for dinner, but that's a different story.
my grandmother, at the same time, would go out to the local laundry mangle and dry and press her linens, table cloths, bed sheets, everything wide and flat. i would sometimes go with her, and would always be warned about keeping my hands away from the large rolls that suck in the linen. they were dangerous! i can see the scene clearly in front of my eyes.
nostalgia... o that takes me back...