The past month is now a jumbled blur. Between jet lag and so many things to do, so many adjustments to be made and nothing at all familiar, the days and nights have faded into a series of short vignettes and images in my mind.
The dreadful cold shower. After which I fought and struggled with the box of wine in the now half frozen refrigerator. I was exhausted, nearly frantic and damn it, I was going to have a glass of wine! The box was half consumed by the ice taking over the main refrigerator area, but with the help of a knife and by mangling the box itself, I managed to get it freed. Perhaps it was the ice that helped preserve it, because it was still good and had not turned to vinegar. In fact, it was very good. Two glasses and I could hit the sack.
Harry's arrival....and his astounding acclimation to a place so vastly different than he has ever known. Hearing his distinctive bark - "Mom!"
Little girls and old ladies telling me what a handsome boy he is. ("Cane! Bello cane!")
Daily hoping to have a shower somewhere and praying I don't begin to smell.
My aching back on these terrible chairs....hardly any furniture and not much choice.
Walking all over the place - glorious weather, sunny, in the 60s. Willing myself not to make a misstep, still so tired and disoriented.
Buying a bed - a nice platform bed with a foam mattress, delivered the very same day. Very little in the way of movement transference. Nice, sound, sleep. And a nice, upholstered head board for reading.
Deciding that the boiler would be placed inside, since I was buying a new refrigerator anyway.
Listening to Andrea Bocelli and Ed Sheeran, Il Volo and the Carpenters through the tinny, inadequate "speaker" of my laptop, as I defrosted the old refrigerator while a huge thunderstorm worked its way through the hillside. The sound from the laptop was so terrible it gave me an excuse to sing. All the while desperately trying to remember HOW, in fact, to defrost a freezer and remembering to boil some water in a big pot. In spite of the lightning and thunder, Harry remained fairly calm. Pretty sure the music, such as it was, helped a bit. That and the spectacle of defrosting, something he has never seen and I haven't done in about 40 years.
Taking a strange "bath" in someone else's apartment - neither Banks or I able to figure out how to use the hand held shower head, so I soaked, sort of, in a small tub shaped like a keyhole. The water was hot, it felt good, I did my best.
The new fridge, in all its ivory and frost free glory. The two young men who delivered also removed the old one. To my horror, as they leaned it back on the dolly, some wicked, red/brown slime liquid poured out and left a trail all the way out the door. Me, frantically cleaning up the mess with paper towels, trying to keep Harry's paws away from whatever it was.
My husband's arrival. Six in the evening, already dark. His taxi was a LARGE van. He managed to park in the same nook my taxi driver used. So many bags, so we opt to take the "shortcut" through a residential alley. Somehow my husband lost his grip on one or two and I could hear them rolling down a street...omigod. I carried on, trudging up to the house with luggage in tow. Pretty soon I could hear the rolling bags behind me, catching up. I got to the door and turned to my husband. But it wasn't my husband, it was some stranger! My face registered shock, I'm sure, the poor man was being stared at like he was an infamous serial killer, but I managed to blurt out a "Grazie!"...to which he replied "Niente" (It's nothing).
Three days of insane noise as the plumbers worked to install a new boiler. Jackhammers plowing through 2 foot thick walls. Draining all the pipes. Finally, to hear the word "Caldo!"....we have heat! Hallelujah!
Us figuring out how to use the washing machine and somehow managing to wash one load three times because we are idiots. 😝😝😝
Taking the bus to Pescara. A 25 minute car ride is over an hour by bus. I hate to be in high buses to begin with, but the sight of sheer mountain drop-offs as we ride around curves makes the first half of the journey white knuckle time for me. Pescara for the bank, because I need to straighten out the use of my bank card and access to the account. Pescara again because I have to link my Italian phone number to the bank account. Pescara again to go to the Questura (police station) to apply for our Permesso di Soggiorno. (Permit to Stay)
Finding a place we like to go to for dinner. Watching in amusement as a large party of teen boys and their chaperones (a sports team or club) descend on the place, the kids making short shrift of the 2 liter soda bottles on the tables. How well behaved they are. Kids here are wholesome, it is rather like stepping back in time and I admit, heartwarming to see.
Buying some serious walking shoes. Black with a bit of sparkle. Shoes are a major fashion item in this hill town and Italians like a little "bling." Then managing, in said serious walking shoes, to trip on the flat ground of Pescara thereby landing my face on a concrete building wall. Broke my glasses. Eye bleeding. Going to have a shiner. I'm going to have a shiner as we continue, carefully, to the police station. This is going to make a great impression.
Discovering the Saturday market - clothes, shoes, socks, jewelry, tee shirts, plants, sweaters, household items such as door mats, linens, garbage pails, jackets and coats, fabric for those with the talent to sew...and the vegetable market with cheese and meats, too. A pretty sweater for 15 euros. After a huge walk, a stop for gelato.
Hankering for a casserole. Nights are getting chilly. Let's figure out the oven! Turns out, unlike the gas stove, the oven is electric. What to do? Turn the dial....there are no words, only baffling icons. Turn a dial. OK. Ooooh, it's on. Three, two, one...AND....ALL the lights are OFF! Fuse box tripped. Not doing THAT again anytime soon.
Tiny moments. Banks talking about the time he cooked fish and his place smelled for weeks. I once did the same many years ago, so I found his story hilarious.
The lady at the little salumeria (deli) complimenting my Italian. "No, signora, io parlo come una bambina"...I speak like a baby.
The delight I see when people know we are Americans. They still love us, for some reason.
Getting words mixed up - "How does this wash?" came out "How does this work?" Non capisco...aggghh...lavora, lava.....we eventually get there. I need a pot with a roof....and another compliment.....these people are far too kind.
Finding different ways to get to the same place. The scenic route or the shortcut.
The locksmith - did I mention my key didn't work in the lock? - an old man...asking about an American president. Me responding by saying, "Please don't say that name"....and him, a survivor of fascism, looking me square in the eyes and saying "We don't want that here."
Getting my hair cut. Most salons look nice, but sometimes it is hard to tell when they are open. I just marched into one that looked busy and made an appointment. They were busy, but right on time, a very fine tuned machine. My new hairdresser looks remarkably like Mandy Patankin, a slightly younger version, but Mandy Patankin, nevertheless. Except he's Italian. And a hairdresser. I was very happy with the results and the reasonable price.
Getting sick. On top of smacking my eye into a building, I got a sinus infection. It was inevitable, really, just a matter of time. Sleep deprivation, no rhythm or rhyme, stomachs and circadian rhythms all messed up, unfamiliar everything. It felt like a cold but turned one day. Rushing to the young man who sold us the health policies. I was stuck in bed, while my husband watched the young man call and make an appointment for me. Calling a friend of Banks' to take us there (under normal circumstances I could walk, but not that day) A young girl....is she twelve?...she's the doctor....but I leave with a prescription for antibiotics. Trying to remain vertical in the pharmacy, the pharmacist hands over the medication and says, "Pagate niente'..you pay nothing. Niente? That can't be right. I feel like I am breaking a law.
Finally, our furniture should arrive in port within the week. We have health coverage. We pretty much, as much as we need for now, know our way around.
The next hurdles include: figuring out why the oven tripped the fuses. Getting a clothes dryer (where the old fridge used to be). Getting rid of the furniture pieces left here before ours arrives. Patience.
Patience. We must learn patience. Of course...I knew, coming in, nothing would be perfect overnight. It's only been a month of the most radical move of our lives. Patience. Breathe. Breathe the clean air. Drink the clear, pure water. Eat the natural and clean, delicious food. Patience.
It's just a matter of time.
The dreadful cold shower. After which I fought and struggled with the box of wine in the now half frozen refrigerator. I was exhausted, nearly frantic and damn it, I was going to have a glass of wine! The box was half consumed by the ice taking over the main refrigerator area, but with the help of a knife and by mangling the box itself, I managed to get it freed. Perhaps it was the ice that helped preserve it, because it was still good and had not turned to vinegar. In fact, it was very good. Two glasses and I could hit the sack.
Harry's arrival....and his astounding acclimation to a place so vastly different than he has ever known. Hearing his distinctive bark - "Mom!"
Little girls and old ladies telling me what a handsome boy he is. ("Cane! Bello cane!")
Daily hoping to have a shower somewhere and praying I don't begin to smell.
My aching back on these terrible chairs....hardly any furniture and not much choice.
Walking all over the place - glorious weather, sunny, in the 60s. Willing myself not to make a misstep, still so tired and disoriented.
Buying a bed - a nice platform bed with a foam mattress, delivered the very same day. Very little in the way of movement transference. Nice, sound, sleep. And a nice, upholstered head board for reading.
Deciding that the boiler would be placed inside, since I was buying a new refrigerator anyway.
Listening to Andrea Bocelli and Ed Sheeran, Il Volo and the Carpenters through the tinny, inadequate "speaker" of my laptop, as I defrosted the old refrigerator while a huge thunderstorm worked its way through the hillside. The sound from the laptop was so terrible it gave me an excuse to sing. All the while desperately trying to remember HOW, in fact, to defrost a freezer and remembering to boil some water in a big pot. In spite of the lightning and thunder, Harry remained fairly calm. Pretty sure the music, such as it was, helped a bit. That and the spectacle of defrosting, something he has never seen and I haven't done in about 40 years.
Taking a strange "bath" in someone else's apartment - neither Banks or I able to figure out how to use the hand held shower head, so I soaked, sort of, in a small tub shaped like a keyhole. The water was hot, it felt good, I did my best.
The new fridge, in all its ivory and frost free glory. The two young men who delivered also removed the old one. To my horror, as they leaned it back on the dolly, some wicked, red/brown slime liquid poured out and left a trail all the way out the door. Me, frantically cleaning up the mess with paper towels, trying to keep Harry's paws away from whatever it was.
My husband's arrival. Six in the evening, already dark. His taxi was a LARGE van. He managed to park in the same nook my taxi driver used. So many bags, so we opt to take the "shortcut" through a residential alley. Somehow my husband lost his grip on one or two and I could hear them rolling down a street...omigod. I carried on, trudging up to the house with luggage in tow. Pretty soon I could hear the rolling bags behind me, catching up. I got to the door and turned to my husband. But it wasn't my husband, it was some stranger! My face registered shock, I'm sure, the poor man was being stared at like he was an infamous serial killer, but I managed to blurt out a "Grazie!"...to which he replied "Niente" (It's nothing).
Three days of insane noise as the plumbers worked to install a new boiler. Jackhammers plowing through 2 foot thick walls. Draining all the pipes. Finally, to hear the word "Caldo!"....we have heat! Hallelujah!
Us figuring out how to use the washing machine and somehow managing to wash one load three times because we are idiots. 😝😝😝
Taking the bus to Pescara. A 25 minute car ride is over an hour by bus. I hate to be in high buses to begin with, but the sight of sheer mountain drop-offs as we ride around curves makes the first half of the journey white knuckle time for me. Pescara for the bank, because I need to straighten out the use of my bank card and access to the account. Pescara again because I have to link my Italian phone number to the bank account. Pescara again to go to the Questura (police station) to apply for our Permesso di Soggiorno. (Permit to Stay)
Finding a place we like to go to for dinner. Watching in amusement as a large party of teen boys and their chaperones (a sports team or club) descend on the place, the kids making short shrift of the 2 liter soda bottles on the tables. How well behaved they are. Kids here are wholesome, it is rather like stepping back in time and I admit, heartwarming to see.
Buying some serious walking shoes. Black with a bit of sparkle. Shoes are a major fashion item in this hill town and Italians like a little "bling." Then managing, in said serious walking shoes, to trip on the flat ground of Pescara thereby landing my face on a concrete building wall. Broke my glasses. Eye bleeding. Going to have a shiner. I'm going to have a shiner as we continue, carefully, to the police station. This is going to make a great impression.
Discovering the Saturday market - clothes, shoes, socks, jewelry, tee shirts, plants, sweaters, household items such as door mats, linens, garbage pails, jackets and coats, fabric for those with the talent to sew...and the vegetable market with cheese and meats, too. A pretty sweater for 15 euros. After a huge walk, a stop for gelato.
Hankering for a casserole. Nights are getting chilly. Let's figure out the oven! Turns out, unlike the gas stove, the oven is electric. What to do? Turn the dial....there are no words, only baffling icons. Turn a dial. OK. Ooooh, it's on. Three, two, one...AND....ALL the lights are OFF! Fuse box tripped. Not doing THAT again anytime soon.
Tiny moments. Banks talking about the time he cooked fish and his place smelled for weeks. I once did the same many years ago, so I found his story hilarious.
The lady at the little salumeria (deli) complimenting my Italian. "No, signora, io parlo come una bambina"...I speak like a baby.
The delight I see when people know we are Americans. They still love us, for some reason.
Getting words mixed up - "How does this wash?" came out "How does this work?" Non capisco...aggghh...lavora, lava.....we eventually get there. I need a pot with a roof....and another compliment.....these people are far too kind.
Finding different ways to get to the same place. The scenic route or the shortcut.
The locksmith - did I mention my key didn't work in the lock? - an old man...asking about an American president. Me responding by saying, "Please don't say that name"....and him, a survivor of fascism, looking me square in the eyes and saying "We don't want that here."
Getting my hair cut. Most salons look nice, but sometimes it is hard to tell when they are open. I just marched into one that looked busy and made an appointment. They were busy, but right on time, a very fine tuned machine. My new hairdresser looks remarkably like Mandy Patankin, a slightly younger version, but Mandy Patankin, nevertheless. Except he's Italian. And a hairdresser. I was very happy with the results and the reasonable price.
Getting sick. On top of smacking my eye into a building, I got a sinus infection. It was inevitable, really, just a matter of time. Sleep deprivation, no rhythm or rhyme, stomachs and circadian rhythms all messed up, unfamiliar everything. It felt like a cold but turned one day. Rushing to the young man who sold us the health policies. I was stuck in bed, while my husband watched the young man call and make an appointment for me. Calling a friend of Banks' to take us there (under normal circumstances I could walk, but not that day) A young girl....is she twelve?...she's the doctor....but I leave with a prescription for antibiotics. Trying to remain vertical in the pharmacy, the pharmacist hands over the medication and says, "Pagate niente'..you pay nothing. Niente? That can't be right. I feel like I am breaking a law.
Finally, our furniture should arrive in port within the week. We have health coverage. We pretty much, as much as we need for now, know our way around.
The next hurdles include: figuring out why the oven tripped the fuses. Getting a clothes dryer (where the old fridge used to be). Getting rid of the furniture pieces left here before ours arrives. Patience.
Patience. We must learn patience. Of course...I knew, coming in, nothing would be perfect overnight. It's only been a month of the most radical move of our lives. Patience. Breathe. Breathe the clean air. Drink the clear, pure water. Eat the natural and clean, delicious food. Patience.
It's just a matter of time.
