I thought I knew you...what did I know?

Years ago, when we used to visit quaint little towns with quaint little shops and antique stores, there was one store in New Hope, Pennsylvania we would always frequent.  Sometimes we were just browsing and other times we made purchases, a wedding gift, a fancy bird feeder for the backyard.

I have a few chickens and roosters in my kitchen.  They have accumulated over the years.  Some were gifts.  One large rooster came from this very store in New Hope.  It was not expensive at all, especially considering its size.  So, there I was browsing in this store and I saw two small guinea hens.  They were adorable.  I considered getting both but realized I only had the perfect spot for one, so with difficulty, I chose the one I favored the most.

I brought the cute little hen up to the very pleasant gentleman behind the counter.  I had seen him several times before and we even had a few chats in the past.  As he was wrapping up the cute little hen and entering the price into the register, I turned to pull out some cash...after all, how much could it be?  It was a good thing my back was turned when he said, "That will be ninety dollars and 46 cents."  !!!!!  I felt like a cartoon character with my eyes popping out of my head.  I quickly stuffed the money back in my wallet and pulled out my credit card.  Choke.  Gag.

The very nice gentleman was then telling me that these hens were completely hand made and painted by a local artist and now there was only one left. (Yes, I knew that....thank heavens I didn't take them both!)   I made a mental note to myself that from then on I would check anything decorative for a signature and ask the price before boldly marching up to the counter.  My husband was slightly annoyed and needled me about it for a bit but not too badly.

So here we are in Italy.  We left a whole bunch of stuff behind.  We realized that we now have no centerpiece for our dining room table.  I love that room, we love having our dinners in there because the window by the table looks out at the sky and the town and the hills beyond.    I think in this house it is my favorite room.

We began to go on a quest for a vase since we left the previous one behind.  Why did we do that? Because of space considerations and the fact that the vase was really cheap, had no sentimental value and there was no sense in having it take up precious space.

We saw a verdigris vase/pitcher at a housewares store in town.  Hmmmm.  Maybe.  Let's think about it.  A couple of days later we decided it would work just fine and went back to the store but the vase was gone.  "You snooze, you lose."  I said, "No matter.  We will find something one day."

Then we wandered into another housewares/gift shop.  I have an LED candle from this store that looks remarkably real when turned on.  It was only 8 euros.  I also bought a wonderful ceramic pan there that I use nearly every day.  Ok, let's look around.   Too big.  Too small.  Too white.  Too elaborate. There was one my husband liked but I thought it might be too "sophisticated."  I was still fixated on something resembling a pitcher.  Hmmmm.  Maybe.  Let's think about it.

A couple of days later it dawned on me that the vase he saw was perfect.  It had the same colors as the previous one and was the right size.  We decided it would work just fine and went back to the store.

My husband stayed outside because we had a rolling cart of groceries plus a bag - too cumbersome to bring into a store full of glass objects.  He handed me 20 euros.  I was thinking that might not be enough and he said, "How much can it be?"   Ahhhhh….I'm remembering cute little hen...….

I marched back, located the vase (Yes, it is perfect) and checked the bottom.  Sure enough....it's way more than twenty.  It's sixty.  It is also hand made glass, like Murano.  It has a card inside in four languages explaining it was hand made in Firenze (Florence) by master glass artists.  Snarfle.   I take it to the counter, bank card in hand.  I wonder what my husband will say.....but he is not annoyed.  His response was that Murano costs twice as much and we don't need another thing at his point.  Not until we get the back room sorted out properly. Well, yay.  Feeling just a little more like home.

What's that sound?

I am old and all alone.  I have no family.  I never married, I have no children.  There is no one.  I live alone.  I live on the second floor.  It is a lovely place…I am comfortable and I have a sunny balcony where I keep my beloved plants.  There is also a window outside my door, in the shared courtyard, where I also have a few plants.

It is getting harder, though, to get up the stairs to my home.  It is a long stairway.  I go up one at a time, like a child.  I bring my groceries up.  I bring the garbage down.  It is getting difficult.  I am all alone.

The apartment next to me is empty except on major holidays.  They come to see their family and stay for a week, or maybe two.  Then they disappear again.

Downstairs there is no one.  I hear people come and go and I don’t really know what is going on, but no one lives there.  I am alone.

I fell a few months ago, outside, in the street.  It was cold and snowy.  I fell and broke my wrist.  I messed up my face quite a bit too.  I was in the hospital.  When I finally returned home, I had help.  People in healthcare would come to check on me and I had some physical therapy for my broken wrist.

Today was Palm Sunday, the Sunday before Easter.  I was just taking the garbage out.  Coming down the stairs.  I am not sure what happened.  I slipped.  On the very last stair.  And then I was on the floor.  It was very cold.  And dark.  The courtyard light is on a timer and goes off too quickly.  I was on the ground, cold and dark…and alone.  There is no one here.  I am alone.

                                                                            ****

She was not alone.  Thank goodness.  We moved in, downstairs, five months ago.  BUT, if we had not been here, she would have lain upon that icy cold ceramic tile floor for more than an hour until the sometimes upstairs people arrived for Easter holiday.  But we were here and we heard a strange sound.   We were just about to settle in, on a rather chilly and rainy Sunday afternoon, to watch a movie.  But….that sound….what was that?  You had better go check……..!!!!!!!

She was on the floor…a slipper had flown off her foot, there were blood spatters on the tiles…we just had gotten a bench for outside our door….so my husband helped her to her feet and gently placed her on the bench.  I got her some water and tissues, he got cotton pads and peroxide, and Harry gave her some sweet licks.

I don’t know how old she is, but she must be in her 70s if not close to 80 and she is very tiny.  Almost like a miniature person.  She should not have been in backless slippers.  That was not a wise decision.  She was trembling.  Her left hand and wrist were swelling.  We got ice and put it in a plastic bag and I wrapped the bag around her wrist, gently, with an Ace bandage.  We gave her two aspirin, with her consent.  

As she sat, as I tried to communicate in my poor Italian, I was not getting a clear picture as to how she felt.   I think she was afraid….I know she was a bit in shock.  The severe trembling worried me.  The swelling and redness (so soon) worried me and then I started noticing a large lump on her forehead that was getting larger by the moment.  And turning bluish.  I know it is good to have a lump….rather than having internal bleeding or swelling, but it was still alarming. 

Is there someone I can call?  No, I am alone.

No one?  No one.

Do you want to go to the hospital?  We don’t have a car……

She smiles. I don’t know what that means. 

After about fifteen minutes, the head lump is looking really ugly and she is still trembling very badly.  She needs to go to the hospital.  I ask her again about anyone and she says the lady across the street is her friend.  Fine. Done.

I put my shoes on and out into the chilly rain I go, across the street – the house looks dark, but I will try anyway.   Now I’m the one afraid I will fall because there are three steep steps up to the door and they are wet and slippery and there is no bannister.   Ring.  Ring. Ring.   Yep, the house is empty, no one is home.  What now?

The man who is a woodworker and helped the night my husband arrived with his luggage – he is next to this house…..also dark, but I try anyway.  No one home.

There is a lawyer couple across the way….they are on the third floor.  My next stop.  Ring.  Ring.  A voice from a window three stories up.   “Chi e la?”

Of course, the natural human reaction overtakes me – I am now in panic mode…..all coherent Italian promptly leaves my brain.  Ciao!!    I blurt words….the woman…my neighbor…fell…stairs…she is hurt…”Non capito”..I don’t understand.”…..omigod.   BLOOD!  The Stairs!   Finally…”Dove?” (Where?)….IN OUR COURTYARD!   Oh, oh….I understand…….

Geez….I think sometimes people, in general, hear an unfamiliar accent and tune out…..she didn’t understand me……why?  I said the right words!

Anyway, after knowing SOMEONE  with a car was coming to help, we headed back to the house and a car was just pulling in…another neighbor (she has an ancient Great Dane mix sweetheart of a dog) pulled up with her dog in the back.   When she got out of the car, I took the opportunity to say, “Signore, per favore”….she knows a bit of English, but it didn’t matter, SHE understood my Italian…and she came right in and took control.  She went upstairs, into the neighbor’s apartment and got her coat, her handbag and keys and checked the place and turned everything off…..finally the lawyer lady arrived…dressed to the nines….pumps, fancy coat, makeup……Oh!  Someone else is here!   I heard the Dane gal explain that she drove up and saw us standing in the pouring rain…..

Together they got our neighbor into a car…the Dane car….Great Dane included, by the way……and that lady got her to the hospital.

I thanked them both.  The Dane lady said, “Non, grazie a voi”..No, thank YOU.

The lawyer lady brushed us off, but politely….I said I was sorry for bothering her.

Our neighbor is spending the night in the hospital and she DOES have a broken wrist…yet again.

There is an emergency number to call, but we don’t know it. We think of asking and then conversations take other directions and we forget. 

Much like other places, it was probably faster to get her to the hospital by car rather than waiting for emergency services, but we really need to know the number.  We also need the number of the people across the street since they are the only people this lady has.  It was a lesson.  This was a lesson.  Things can happen and you don’t have warning and you need to be prepared.

Since she fell in December I have been afraid of something like this.  If she had tumbled from the top of the stairs she could have died.  It also makes me wonder if we should consider getting a small car sooner rather than later. 

We should have known what to do.  We should have been better prepared. 

Have you ever seen the rain...

Comin’ Down on a Sunny Day

It is the second week of April, on an obscure hill in nowhere Italy.  I was not the only one struck by what happened just a little while ago.

I am five thousand miles away from where I grew up.  I find the climate here reminiscent of northern California…as I lived in the San Francisco area for three years once, a long time ago.

At any rate, I have a so clear memory of being in my living room…in Commack, New York  (Long Island)..I was probably about twelve…about the time when my parents divorced, only no  one ever said THAT word or broached the subject, so I was just supposed to understand via osmosis what the hell was going on.  My grandparents were visiting (my mother’s parents, I barely knew my father’s mother)..and we were in the living room…ahh…the living room….with the soft lilac wall to wall carpet that only looked good just after it was vacuumed because it had a pile to it that moved and changed with each foot step and drove me out of my mind.  I hated that carpet and I hated the color.  The walls, three of them, were white, and one, the front one that faced out to the street, was a deep pink.  There were mostly pink floral curtains with an underlay of white sheers…layers, mind you…layers.  We had the old sectional couch out there…a semi circle…in shades of pink tweed….a wall size mirror from Brooklyn behind it…the piano and the stereo.

The stereo was about to become my best friend, but I did not know that at the time.  At this time, Robert Goulet was singing, and I didn’t mind at all.  I thought he was wonderful and also wonderfully handsome.

I was sitting in the side chair..also a tweed, but more gray than pink.  I was in my raincoat.  It was reversible, solid blue one way and a blue print the other.  It was Spring.  April.  My parents split had happened the previous October…their anniversary.  How a propos.  How typical of men. 

I was there that afternoon, in that big, comfy chair…and the sun was shining in the back dining room window….filling the room…with so much light….pure, bright light.  It was so beautiful.

And I remember that the sky was not so…..beautiful…it was sort of gray…and cloudy..and the day promised showers ( I was in my raincoat after all) but the sun was shining through nevertheless.  Bright and pale yellow.  It was spring.  Spring.

I had not seen that in so very long.  So very, very long that I thought, perhaps, it would never happen again.  Spring stopped being the harbinger of warmer weather.  In fact, Spring simple stopped altogether.  It seemed that winters wore on and on and then suddenly, one day, it would get hot and stay that way for months.  It was impossible to enjoy the daffodils, the dogwoods, gradual greening of the landscape.

But it happened this evening.  On our little hill, tucked away in nowhere Italy…it happened.  A spring sky, a spring sun, a spring somewhat rainy but not really, sort of…day.  The light.  The pale but bright light…birds singing their little hearts out.   Spring like the springs of my youth.  It took my breath away.  I tried to capture it with our poor contemporary excuse for a camera….I doubt that I did, but I tried. 

The sight made my heart briefly sing….and remember those springs of the past…those normal springs….when we never questioned if they would ever end.  How could they ever end?  Nature can always be counted on…as sure as the sunrise, right?

It is just a brief sojourn and I know it…..I’m grateful, though, to have witnessed it once again.

Nothing lasts, people change...

The Only Constant

Language is always changing.  I have often been accused of being a “grammar nazi.”  Yet, when it comes to things language related I think of myself as being fairly flexible. 

In my education I have learned that language is an ever changing, living thing and it never remains “the same.”  The same as what?  Latin died.  Yet, remnants live within many tongues.   Just like music and probably also body language, it is a fluid and morphous thing with countless hybrids cropping up.  So, who am I to be a “grammar nazi” although I try to draw the line at understanding.  When language becomes incomprehensible, then there is no “language” at all.  The entire point is to communicate.

I mean, imagine being suddenly thrust into a world where people are talking about making bread, and being groovy, and bad really meant…well, bad….and not good.  When no one in their right mind ever said, “Yeah…no,” without being completely misunderstood.  It wasn’t so long ago.

Those natural changes to language I have come to understand and accept.  Lexicons, vulgarisms, everyday phrases…..I get it.  I accept them.  What bothers me the most is the political takeover of language, of labels, of meanings, of symbols.  That is disturbing, unnatural and dangerous.

George Carlin gave a scathing speech about it years ago.  Political speech.  Calling things …not what they are.  Calling them something more palatable that the masses will swallow.  Something no one will truly understand but they will think they do and they will repeat it and repeat it because, gosh, it sounds so good and everyone gets so excited!  Right to work! (The right to get fired from a job for no good reason whatsoever)  Citizens United!  (Those “united” citizens are wealthy beyond your wildest dreams and united in their quest to become even more wealthy)…

And now the big bad word is “socialism.”  Socialism is a theory, an idea.  It’s a basically nice one, one that values the good of the whole society over that of one individual.  Our forefathers referred to it as “the common good.”  Yeah, that is scary SOCIALISM!  Run!...No…please don’t.  It isn’t scary and it isn’t bad.   There actually is no working pure socialism in the world and people who purport to scream “Aggggh!  Socialiaism doesn’t work!”  are just playing word games.  Playing word games to scare people. 

The countries where “socialism” if you will, if you insist, works…are ALL over Europe.  I live in one.  They are all combinations of democracy and social contracts and capitalism….controlled capitalism, social programs for the good of all society, and democracy..you know….by and for we..the people.  Remember that one?  Anyone?

My mother once told me that the only constant was change.  I found that scary and sad.  Over time, however, I also found that she was exactly right.  Language changes.  Music changes.  Governments change. 

Yet it seems we keep fighting this same fight over and over and over again and it doesn’t seem to change.   The yin and the yang, the wrong and the right, the good and the evil, the rich against the poor….will it ever end?  Or have we already orchestrated that end? 

My sense…and it is not a happy one…is that we are a terrible species and we, as a whole, were never able to learn…not enough of us…I think we came close…oh…so close, in the 60s….flower children, all you need is love, what the world needs now is love, everything is beautiful…..We came close, but we failed.  And the only constant is change…which is not a constant at all.