Trieste is the name of the street I live on. The Husband pronounces Trieste as Tree-est. The Mama used to say Trees-tay. I like to say Tree-es-tay. Molly the Cat simply says Mwrr.
Today, I found out that I was wrong about what trieste means. I thought it meant sad. In Italian, which is the word's origin, trieste means market place. (Italians pronouce the word as tree-es-tay.) According to Wiktionary.org, trieste is from the Latin word tergeste, which comes from Venetic, a once-upon-a-time language in the long-time-ago region of Veneto.
I love the idea that we live on Trieste, a market place. I shall now imagine myself selling, trading, and giving away the creations of my heart. They may be words, images, and things out of stuff. Hmmmm. When I was a young thing living in San Francisco I wanted to be a street artist when I grew up, but I had no idea what I could sell as I had no artistry of any kind. That's what I thought then.
Things are different now. I have the time to play with paint, ink, pencils, glitter, dyes, rocks, dirty, hammers, saws, needles, thread, paper, fabric, straw, flowers, paper, and so on and so forth, et cetera, et cetera. I can explore, discover, experiment, and simply try my hand at finding what kind of artistry is inside me. Who knows, if I want to, I might even make a small living out of it.
By the way, in Spanish, triste means sad or mournful. I'm glad to know that I don't live on a street called sadness. Maybe now melancholy and I can make a truce.
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