Dr. Metablog

I've arrived at the age in which even a momentary lapse of memory is worrisome. Have I at last begun the ineluctable descent into senility? 

But then there's the contrary. When I happen to dredge up some bit of buried knowledge, I experience a rush of triumph. I feel it as evidence that I've put off the inevitable for another couple of weeks — perhaps even months. And I preen and strut shamelessly. I become unbearable.

At the Phillips, yesterday, we came upon a painting by Giuseppe De Nittis called "Spring" (there's a pretty poor reproduction of it above). I glanced at the picture, and in a flash, without hesitation, announced, "that's a trullo in the left distance."  And I was correct — my assertion confirmed by the scholarly description on the accompanying wall plaque.

What is a trullo?  It's a building, obviously, a kind of drystone architecture, common in Apulia, usually whitewashed and with a conical roof, often constructed as a temporary shelter for shepherds and other agricultural workers and occasionally for long term occupancy. 

But how does a Flatbush yoot recognize and immediately name a trullo at first glance?  I could be coy and say something like, "Oh, who doesn't know about trulli?" and leave my friends baffled and dazzled by my prodigious memory. 

But of course that would not be the full story.

Some seven or eight years ago, as turisti, we visited an Italian village called Alberobello in Apulia in southern Italy. Here's a picture:

It is, obviously, all trulli — architecture that is striking and memorable. So it's not mysterious that I would instantaneously recall the building and the name. Not mysterious, but still rather impressive, I think. And temporarily reassuring.