Who knows where the time goes?

 

First off, the family.  Of course, where else?  One of these things is not like the others.  Well, to me…none of “those things” was like the rest other than being older…..no one looked like anyone else, even the “twins”….and my next oldest sister wasn’t one of “them”….so…how was she so different from me?

Well, turns out being “older” was a BIG difference, since the world shattered when I was twelve.  I had sisters already in nursing school and college.  There I was…..left.

I understand it is an exercise in futility…but I play “what if” from time to time anyway.  What if I had had two parents all through school like all the rest of my schoolmates?  What if I had had some encouragement?  What anyone had been proud or happy or mildly pleased that I was college material?  What IF I had been able to graduate at age 20 with a BA?  What if?

What if I hadn’t been taught to be someone’s wife?  What if I hadn’t been told my role was to keep quiet?  What if I had felt, from the start, that I had some self worth?

                                                               ********************

 

We are watching  “The Handmaid’s Tale.”  It is becoming progressively more painful…I think for my husband, but I know, especially…for me.  For while the “Tale” is taken to the extreme……it strikes chords…deep chords….within.

“Please don’t tell me what to do”….”June” says to the “Eye.”   June.  

“I will survive this.”…me, in 2000…when my then husband threatened to kill us all, took an overdose and wound up plunked in a psyche ward. And still…no one took me very seriously, except my child.

I doubt that my present husband has any idea of the gut wrenching pain this series is causing…..l know that I would not even have a clue as to where to begin to explain.

I am left handed.  When in first grade, I was asked to go to the board and add one plus two.  Easy. Three.  But I wrote the numeral “3” backwards.  I was repeatedly told my answer was “wrong.”  The other girls (yes, girls, in an all girl’s Catholic school) started to giggle.  Oh..so funny!  Wrong!!!  What the hell else is two plus one?  One plus two? 

                                                            ************************

I have been looked over, passed over, ignored…in every aspect of my life.  Every job.  Everything I wanted to achieve.

I had a dear friend in my 20s….she was a phlebotomist in our office….I was a secretary….she got divorced and later met a guy who really cared about her.  She quit working and went to nursing school.  What a gift.  I remember going to her graduation party with my “fiancée”  and thinking how lucky she was that someone thought that much of her….to allow her to get through school and better herself.  The gift of a lifetime.

Maybe I was lazy…..no, really, maybe I was lazy because….well,…why?  Who cares?  You are just a girl.  You don’t have a degree.  You have a child.  Whatever they could use against me they did.  Now I wonder…how many males are asked….do you have a child?  How many are told…you are just a boy?  A young man?  I’ve been overqualified for a majority of the “positions” I held….and then asked to do things BEYOND my realm…be half a nurse…take physical histories, sign documents for surgery…list drugs you never heard of and don’t know how to spell….take blood pressures, pulses and temperatures….take blood (I couldn’t)…give shots ( I did…and felt like a charlatan and pray I didn’t kill anyone.)  All to survive.  All to keep a roof over my head, food on the table….health care (the biggest joke of all.)

If I had stayed single I might have had a better chance.  But….noooooooo…I had to “have a man.”  No woman is complete without a man.  Right?  And he was charming. Funny.  Cute.  He also just wanted me to be his workhorse.  And a good little workhorse I was.

 

                                                            ********************************

 

I am happy for, yet envy, my friends or anyone who finds that one person who values them.  What good fortune!!  I think I was meant to find my way alone.  It is what I do best.  Not by choice…but by circumstance.  It just always seems to work out that way.  “One of these things is not like the other.”  And…that would be me.

I don’t know how “The Handmaid’s Tale” ends…we have barely scratched the beginning….and I never read it….so…….but I do know it is painful for me, as a woman, as a woman who had aspirations that never were clarified….encouraged…..

Oh…I DO have that degree….took me forty years, but I got it….I spewed out a couple of independently published books that no one reads…but I did it.  And I moved to Italy….whoever thought of that?  Perhaps that is one thing I can claim.  I always dreamed of going places and seeing things…and thanks to pandemic 2020 I may not see much more, but I did do this.  I have to say, I am grateful each day I wake up in my 600 year old bedroom and look up an ancient ceiling of handmade bricks. 

People live and people die, times come and times go…..what are we here for?  What is it all meant to be about?  I have had a life a mediocrity…..like so many others…most others.  Should I lament….or should I be thankful that I had a life at all…and is that not extraordinary in and of itself?

Tell me, over and over and over again....

 Italian Quarantine Chronicles (Volume II) November 19th, 2020:

Things relaxed over the summer.  Bars, cafes, even some restaurants opened again....although they were "reservation only."  Take out and delivery were offered everywhere.  Some of the establishments, like the gelato store, stopped taking pre-orders and opened their doors again.  Every place had a clearly marked "ENTRY" and "EXIT."  They had tape on the floors to keep people away from the counters.  They marked spots, with a picture, or an "X"...anything...to show where people could stand and still maintain distance.  

Some paid attention.  Others didn't and marched confidently through "Uscita" signs...took up space in between marked spots...and the kids.  Oh, the kids.  Groups of four, five, even ten or more...all together, masks hanging around their necks or from their wrists...because they are invincible. 

There were no "protests" here, thank goodness. although there were in other parts of Italy.  Even the "Milani" who come here part time and have the apartment upstairs, blithely walked in and out with masks down, even though Milan was the epicenter of the virus from day one in Italy.

And then the schools were opened.  They bent over backwards to find venues for classrooms, they sent in teams to disinfect....and space the desks.  Rather than spending the funds to supply everyone with a PC or tablet so they could take classes online. 

Here we are again.

Out of caution, because we are older, because we have several risk factors between us, we have been in virtual quarantine non-stop.  We visited Cafe Belvedere twice. Cafe Corso twice or three times...outside.  One day we stopped at Cafe Malu.  We had take out from Cretarola and Pin Up.  My husband, for the most part, remained the designated shopper.  I would go out on solitary jaunts once in a while.

We took walks on Sundays when everything was closed.  I would feed the outside cats, with a mask on, in my cortile, during "pranzo" when no one was likely to be around.

The doctors and the scientists predicted this months ago.  They knew this was going to happen, yet governments around the world took a chance.  Vacations!  Business!  School!  What?  I can't eat out?  What?  I can't have a big birthday party?  

I understand people's concerns, especially when it comes to their livelihood...but...you can't work if you die.  

                                                           ***********************

I had to walk up to the farmacia again this evening.  Stupid me, I forgot my phone....it was such a lovely evening.  A chill in the air, but at 4:45 pm, the sun was setting and the town was bathed in that distinctive Italian glow...while lights inside homes and any place that might be open burned from within.  

Cafe Corso, on my way, looked festive in the evening light, although now they have a "counter" at the entry door...da sporto solo - take out only.  At the door.

The housewares store, photographer and gift shop were dark.  The shoe store was open, but no one was there.  Even Cafe Centrale, the 24 hour chi-chi...preferred by the young crowd..bar/cafe was dark. 

The streets were primarily empty.  I had no wait at the farmacia.  

This picture is from the first quarantine.  I don't know...maybe it didn't have to be this way.   If people had just sucked it up a bit more even though it was summer...even though the kids wanted to get together...even though.....because here we are again...with winter approaching.

I downloaded four books yesterday.  We have several Netflix series and movies lined up...my "designated shopper" hit the supermarket today and stocked us up for the next two to three weeks.  Being an American, I am used to that...it is how we lived, especially with gruelling work schedules.  I plan meals out...and stuff the freezer and fridge so it looks like a damned Rubic cube when I'm done.  

Being an introvert I don't have a huge problem with this....there are things I would like to do, places I would like to go, people I enjoy seeing....but being aware of the greater danger...I set my priorities.  And I remind myself I never dreamt I would live in Italy....there were decades I never dreamt I would ever make it to Europe....so I remind myself to be grateful every day for where I am and what we have.

Intrepid shopper did a splendid job this time...he brought home Twinings English Breakfast tea for me...and perfect chicken breasts for what we will call "Thanksgiving" but is really an excuse to open a big bottle of prosecco. 

And so we hunker down once again...and worry each time one of us goes out the door, and worry for friends and relatives.....but we are determined to get through this.  

As a kid on Long Island....no one ever travelled to Europe.  People barely even took what everyone calls a "vacation" now...vacation was no school, or home from work.  A barbecue in the backyard.  If you were lucky you had a friend or two with a pool.  A movie, maybe, on a really hot day.  On Long Island, once I was old enough to drive, we also had the beach....which, come to think of it, we do here, also.   THAT was "vacation."  Stay up late and watch Johnny Carson. Have pizza for dinner.  

We have everything to be thankful for....a roof over our heads, affordable health care, stupendous local, natural food...six little clown kitties...my sweet Harry still hanging on.... we might get a dusting of snow this weekend...we are warm and cozy inside...we have clothes, entertainment...beautiful views...friendly neighbors...look around you....be safe, be smart....and be grateful.  This is an emergency and we must persevere.

But that was yesterday, and yesterday's gone

 

In this Medieval town, we live next to a building that dates back to the 12^th Century.  Formerly a church, there is still a small obelisk outside in the front with a cross atop, and the remnants of the ancient bell tower. More recently the building has been used as a “civic center,” for various town meetings.  I saw some activity going on inside for several days, wondering what was coming up.  As of yesterday, the antique “Church of San Comizio” houses a dance studio.

While the weather was warm (70 degrees Fahrenheit) the sky, the slant of the sun…just the feeling in the air for the last several days has whispered “Autumn is here.”

Late in the afternoon I had to visit the farmacia for over-the-counter allergy medication.  The sun was waning, the streets were strangely quiet, everything seemed subdued.  It was an early evening to take in, leisurely, the beauty of this town, the colorful, historical buildings, the sound of footsteps on cobblestones, what few people there were having a late coffee or early glass of wine.

When I had left the house some 20 minutes before, there were a couple of parents and grandparents dropping off their little charges.  My husband had noticed through our window that a little girl was going in carrying her ballet slippers and he smiled.

Coming home, as I turned down the street, I heard music.  As I approached it became apparent that it was coming from the new dance studio. And although I did not recognize the piece, just like when a certain melody can magically transport you back to another time and place, I was overwhelmed with memories and bittersweet emotions. 

My initial reaction was to smile.  My neighbor and friend across the street was on her balcony.  “It is nice to hear the music!”  Yes, it is.  It is nice to have a bit more life in our little piazzetta.  It is good for the town, especially since the quarantine, to have a small business open, too.

A bit later, while still hearing the studio music, I began to reminisce about my days in dance classes.  Going to the Danskin store for slippers and tights. Our teacher was “Miss Bobbi.”  She looked like Lynda Carter (“Wonder Woman”) but this was long before anyone knew that.  I am going back to the mid and late 1960s.  Her dark hair always up in a proper bun.  Perfect makeup.  Black leotard and little wraparound chiffon skirt.  There was a wall of mirrors and another wall with a “window” that contained a mirror.  That was the two-way mirror, so anyone in the waiting room could see us inside. I know several friends were in the class with me but I can only recall two, Linda and Angela.  I remember many evenings such as this one, with the taste of Fall in the air, the quickening sunsets, that strange but beautiful silence. 

Sometimes I rode my bike.  The studio was “just around the corner,” in a non-descript, flat strip mall, it was the last “box” on the left.  Usually, however, I walked.  I’m not sure how far it was…I had to get to our corner, make a right and go for several blocks to the end of our “subdivision” and then cross Commack Road and head to the right until the little row of shops.  And with that recalled, the tears began. Those sneaky, silent ones that creep down your face without warning or control. 

I cried for the loss.  Not of youth, not of flexibility or dexterity, not even for the people long out of sight who are only memories now.  I cried because of what all Americans have lost.  You see, I felt safe.  Walking or riding my bike, I never had a moment of fear – of a stray bullet, or a stalker or any kind of harm.  I knew where my friends lived.  I knew there were Moms and Dads keeping watch.  I knew I could walk up to any one of those houses if I needed to and maybe the door would not even be locked.

We moved here in retirement as a place of comfort, affordability and peace.  We have that and so much more.  We have friends and acquaintances.  There are doors I can approach if I ever need to.  We have a sense of belonging to a community.  “Salute alla moglie”…”Greetings to your wife,” from the shopkeepers because since quarantine, my husband, for the most part, has been the “designated shopper.”  Everyone knows everyone else…if not personally, then by sight.  Italy has laws about the ownership of guns.  Only the top tier of police carry them. 

Is it perfect?  Of course not.  There are people who don’t care for foreigners, there are people who are mentally ill, there are “bad” people everywhere.  But I breathe a sigh of relief whenever outside because I know, for the most part and more than I have had the pleasure of feeling in many decades, that I am safe.   It is a quiet life that some might find boring but I love it.

What will happen in November?  What will happen in January?  Will Americans be able to ever get back what they have lost over the course of the last forty years?  Will they recover from the last four or will they sink further into fascism?  Will everything that was being accomplished for civil and sexual rights be negated?  I can’t say.  All I know is that I weep for my country and for the generations who never knew the kind of security that my generation knew.  I weep for the loss.

Our house...is a very, very, very fine house...

 

Today we had the door to the balcony repaired.  We have no idea how old it is…25 years?  More?  Two double doors.  They look alright.  But during a storm or strong winds, they are weak.  The wind comes leaking in underneath.  The last big storm we had, while my husband was on the balcony taking hanging plants down and securing things, I had to hold the doors closed or they would have blown in, smacking the walls beside them.

Turns out that the locking mechanism within the doors was broken.  When?  Who knows?  Chissa?  It’s broken and useless.  No wonder the doors blew in. 

So our neighbor and friend, Domenico, took a while…a couple of days…to find the right part.  The part is attached to a new handle, as well, which is fine by me.  I have no love lost for the old handle.

He put it in today…had a cup of coffee with my husband….the cats steered clear…Scaredy cats!!  I had two in my lap, one on the couch, two on the bed and one hiding within layers of one of Harry’s beds.  Want to go outside?  Ummmmm….no thanks.

While all this was going on, I was doing my daily “Duolingo” lesson…Facebook stuff….and preparing dinner. 

Today was a bit of an adventure because I made my very first Tuna Casserole in Italy.  WHY did it take nearly two years?   …………………..

We bought tuna to catch street cats so we could get them sterilized.  The pictures on the products were always wonderful…but when I opened the cans…they were all in oil, not water….the smell was obnoxious and permeating.  It was gray tuna, looked like cat food.  So, that put me off buying tuna here. 

I should add I am “fish shy”…not a big fan…but I will take a can of tuna….from time to time.

One evening we went to a nearby pizza restaurant…we don’t frequent it often, but enough…..anyway….they got my order wrong.  I asked for a “Margarita con cipolle.”  That is a plain cheese pie with onions.  Somehow…somehow….I got tuna.  Tuna?  How does “cipolle” sound like “tonno?”I know they switched me with someone else, but it was really busy and crowded (before Covid)  and I did not want to send it back because I had already bitten into a piece.  So I sucked it up and hated it.  It was gray tuna and very “fishy”….bleh.

I’ve been searching for tuna in Italy.  Finally…finally…after nearly two years…….not only did we find white albacore tuna but it is packed in water rather than oil.  The can says “one drop of water” and they are not kidding!  I had a cat bowl nearby to drain the water into and out came…..”plip.”  Plip?  That’s it?  Yep…that’s it.  One plip.  No more water.

I was prepared for and waiting for the odor of tuna to waft across the room and overwhelm everything.  Nope.  Nothing.  

I was so happy!  I wanted to make a tuna casserole…the weather has changed…it’s Fall now…crisp, pleasant..time to cook!  I had the peas and pasta ready and I was dreading opening this can….and I was, as I often am, so wonderfully surprised at the superior product within.  It is not cheap here…in fact, it is one the rare things that is MORE expensive than in the US…..but it is spectacular.  It flaked out of the can..I did not have to fight with it…barely any water or odor.  And the finished product was delicious. 

Now that we have identified our “brand”…I can buy it in the future….tuna was never a “big” item on our list anyway, but I like knowing it’s there. 

We had the comfort of knowing our back door to the outside world is now securely in place against wind and storms.  And we had some comfort food from “back when” that is even better here.  Thank you, Italy.  I love you.

 

We can work it out

La Guerra della Porta

 

Some background:  The apartment directly above us is owned by a real estate agency.  They tried to make it into a Bed and Breakfast (minus the breakfast) and it didn’t work.

Three or so years ago they rented it to an old lady.  When we bought and when we moved in, she was living up there.  Of course, we didn’t know any of this at the time and we thought that she had been there for many, many years because it seemed an inconvenient place for someone elderly to live.  The stairway is 14 steps and they are quite deep.  I, myself, cannot go up those stairs.  They are also made of tile, so they can be slippery.  I had also noticed that she ascended those stairs one at a time, like a child.

A year and a half ago the lady fell somewhere in the streets outside and broke her left wrist.  Five months later she fell down the stairs and broke her right wrist.  We were the only ones in the building when that happened.  It was Palm Sunday, no one was around and we were frantically seeking help.  Eventually, another neighbor drove in and saw us out in the chilly rain and helped to get the lady to the hospital.

The apartment next door to us is a studio.  It had been for sale when we were thinking of buying this one, but it sold before we made a decision.

The day after I arrived in Italy (tired, just a little scared, cold and quite hungry) someone rang the doorbell.  I opened it to see a middle aged woman whose first words were “Mio marito e morto”…my husband died.  I was not very good at Italian at that point, but I understood that.  I was able to grasp that she wanted to know if we wanted to buy the apartment.  ???  Not at the moment, thank you…a little busy…exhausted and just…no.

She insisted on showing me the place anyway.  As I said, it is a studio, a decent size, with the kitchen on the left, one back window and a narrow bathroom adjacent to the kitchen, which also has a small window.

It was not the time for us to buy another place and it took me three or four tries to finally make this woman tell me what her asking price was, which was WAY too high, anyway.

She was persistent for quite some time, but the situation was impossible.  We needed a new boiler, refrigerator, bed, stove, oven….sorry, no…not now.

Since that time we have become more capable with the language, we have gotten to know our neighbors and we have more understanding of the situation.

The old lady upstairs is somehow related to the woman trying to sell the studio.  I suppose that is why she was in the upstairs apartment, renting, since her relatives owned and sometimes used the studio downstairs. 

Also since then, we have mused about buying the place if the owner would come down on her ridiculous price.  Not only for a place for our daughter to stay when she visits, but if it were possible, I would break through the wall and make the bathroom twice as large and make the studio a master bedroom.  It has a northern exposure window so it doesn’t get much light, which is fine for a bedroom.

The studio sat empty for more than a year.  Until a couple of weeks ago.

The little old lady from upstairs moved into the studio.  Of course, it is much better for her not to go up and down those stairs.  There is just one little problem.  Upstairs she had more windows and a south facing balcony.  She also had more than twenty plants. 

Somehow she expected to take all of these plants into the studio (which has neither the room or the light) or the courtyard.  The courtyard???

The courtyard is enclosed, completely covered.  It gets quite cold and has no light unless the front communal door to the entire building is open.  I tried growing a shade loving philodendron out there and it nearly died before I brought it inside.  I opted for a fake plant instead.

Since we were the only people downstairs, we put out a couple of benches for seating, an umbrella stand, we had the entire courtyard plaster repaired, we had the front door restored and we had some sconces installed for more ambient light (there are lights that go on for 3 minutes when you enter and leave but they are utilitarian and not attractive in any way).

  

The only time the front door is open is when one or both of us is there.  Why?  Isn’t it a safe place to live?

Yes, it is.  However, every Saturday there is a large street market and people come from all over and in pre-pandemic days, there would be lots of tourists, too.  Strangers, in other words.  Second, there are lots of feral cats.  Some of them are predatory males.  They get into fights, they spray, they are not cats that we want wandering into the courtyard.  Third, there are also people who let their dogs of the leash (!!!) and some of THEM chase the street cats and that is another thing we don’t want in our courtyard.  And last, we now have some property in the courtyard which was formerly empty…lights, benches, an little end table.  We don’t want them damaged or lifted.

Here is the problem.  The little old lady brought her twenty or so plants downstairs and plunked them ALL in the courtyard.  There is room OUTSIDE on the front step and beside it for several plants…south facing, just like the balcony they came from.  She refuses to put any of them out there and we don’t know why.  We spoke to her.  Two other neighbors spoke to her.  She won’t do it.  It makes not one bit of sense.

Then, she started opening the front, communal door and going back inside her studio and closing the door, which doesn’t even have a peephole.  Welcome, one and all, feral cats, wandering dogs and strangers.

We could see through our peephole if the door was open because of the amount of daylight.  And we would go out and close the door, only to find it open again some time later. 

Several times we were surprised by the post person or a delivery right at our inside door, rather than hearing the buzzer so we could release the lock outside.

Door open or not, the plants are dying.  Roses, geraniums, cyclamen….they need sun, not indirect daylight.  Twenty became sixteen, then fourteen and now about twelve.  Gosh, what a surprise. That only took a couple of weeks.  Oh, she waters them every day, by the way.  And the terra cotta tiles on the floor are being stained from the runoff.  The sight of dropped petals and leaves and drooping plants is not something that anyone in their right mind wants to be greeted with. 

She rearranged the ones left two days ago and I don’t know what happened but there was a mud stain across about a meter of the floor.  She was cleaning it up with a paper towel under her shoe.  She’s old, and she can’t bend down.  It’s a total mess. (Yes, we will clean it up.)

Two weeks of this.  Door is open again!  Ok….close it.  An hour or two later…door is open again!

I printed out a sign.  “For security, PLEASE close the door if you are not in the courtyard.”  Did she see it?  I have no idea.  Does she care?  Don’t know that, either. 

I was coming in from having been out on an errand.  One neighbor was in the piazzetta talking to another, both older men.  “Buongiorno,” we all said to one another. 

I turned to head to our building and the door was wide open.  I was not facing the men nor was I talking to them, I was growling to myself…”Mamma mia!”…and I continued inside and shut the damned door.  Well, life in a small town.  Somehow that must have gotten back to the old lady.  Something did, because the door is being closed once again.  She still refuses to put some plants outside where they could survive. 

Is she upset at me?  At us?  I don’t know.  All I know is she was the one who told me, originally, to close the door because she was “all alone,” which she is not because she is not only related to the owner of the studio, but she has a niece who comes by at least once a week. 

I don’t know, maybe I’m a total bitch.  Would you feel “safe” if you lived in a multiple apartment dwelling and the entry door to all of them was wide open all the time?  I wouldn’t.  I don’t.  Bad things happen even in nice places and I don’t want to invite them in.  I am not sure if the war is over, but there is peace for the time being.

The morning dew is blinking yonder...

Italian Quarantine Chronicles, Day 71, May 18, 2020:  

I loathe getting up early in the morning.  However, we had a veterinary appointment at 9 am and I had no choice because Harry will not walk that far without the two of us. (As a rescue, he has had separation issues since day 1.)

With four kittens to feed, litter pans to clean, medications to prepare for Imp's asthma....I awoke at 6:30..reluctantly.  It looked cloudy outside as if it might rain, but there was sunshine over neighboring towns to the East.

I took my time getting dressed so the clowns, otherwise known as kittens, would have some time to run around and play.  I tend to move slowly in the mornings anyway due to rheumatoid arthritis.

In an hour or so, I had the dishwasher emptied, cat medicine measured and pulverized, pans cleaned, food out and ready to go.  The clowns somehow sense this and wait eagerly for me to lift a bowl and head to the back room where their separate "rooms" are.  Unfortunately, today, I had to lock them in their cages just to make sure my house doesn't get destroyed while we are both out the door.

It is a bit of a hike to the vet, so we allowed 35 minutes for the trek.  By then the sky was beginning to clear.

Today is the first day that other businesses besides the post office and food vendors are allowed to open.  The town was hopping!  The lady with the gift store around the corner was washing down her front entrance.  The shoe store man was dropping off his wife.  Cafe Corso was open (coffee bistro that also runs the small coffee bean store attached) and we got big waves from the "main man" and his mother.  Clothes were back on the mannequins in the clothing store adjacent.

Businesses are still adhering to restrictions.  There remains limited access to the interiors.  No more than 1 or 2 people inside, depending on the size of the space.  Signs are posted on the doors.  Masks and gloves are mandatory.

There was a lot of activity around the corner on the way to the posta and the supermarket.  Quite a long line for the posta, but it is Monday morning.  We crossed the busy street to the supermarket which is the same street where the medical offices are and the vet is further down the same road.  I had taken a bag so I ducked into Il Vecchio Mulino - the best bread store in town.  The earlier the better and they were fully stocked.  I took four cornetti, two cream buns and a potato focaccia.  Since I know I will be tired later, the focaccia makes a quick, easy and delicious dinner with a bit of tomato sauce, basil and oregano and sliced mozzarella.  Stick it in the oven for ten minutes and voila!

There were a few gentle raindrops along the way.  There were also a few people without masks or gloves..not many...three, maybe four. Could be they were not heading to any place of business.  Everyone else was in compliance, even an older lady walking her dog.

Everything seems to be blooming!  Roses, geraniums, elderberry bushes.  Balconies are becoming very pretty.

In this part of town, we are no longer in the "historic center."  Buildings and houses here are newer, modern.  To the west are the mountains and all the houses on this block have spectacular views of Gran Sasso.

We got to the vet and he was just finishing up with another man and his pup.  It was exactly 9am.  In just a few minutes he was ready for us.  Harry had to be hoisted up onto the table -  no fancy equipment here.  I held his back end and blocked him from moving backwards with my body...I had my head on his tail.  My husband held him fast in the front while the doctor drew his blood.  (Harry has had a couple of very short but real seizures.  The cause could be simple and treatable or something devastating.)  It didn't take long and Harry was back on the ground and ready to go.  We should have the result by Friday.

Strolling back I saw what appeard to be lemon trees, although I'm not sure.

Heading back past the supermarket we saw the houseware store's owners (where we buy dog food) and they had to say "Ciao" to Harry.  Closer to home we passed my  husband's barber heading to his place.  He used to leave his door open and men would wander in whenever.  Now he is carrying an appointment book.  My husband booked with him on the spot!

Another housewares store opened again...she is just down the block from us and offers up a slightly different array of goods.  I checked to see that no one else was inside, we exchanged greetings "Sta bene?"  Si, tutto bene!!  I grabbed a couple of metal "glasses" that have secure lids since my husband has a habit of saving his coffee and putting it in the refrigerator in an open glass.  The inevitable happened last week, the cleanup was not fun but I managed not to say "I told you so."  Well, that won't be happening again.

Our town had completely stable numbers for two weeks until restrictions were eased.  We now have 4 more identified cases but no deaths, thank goodness.  However, we are worried and hesitant about the gradual reopening most particularly because there are people not willing to follow the rules.  

Once home, the clowns were released, items washed and put away, hands washed and washed and washed.  Door knobs wiped down.  Time, finally, for Harry to have his breakfast and I need some hot tea very badly.  Then Harry and I will go to the living room so he can take a rest on his favorite bed.

Now we wait anxiously for Friday.

Walkin' on sunshine...

Italian Quarantine Chronicles, Day 64, May 11, 2020:

I believe this still qualifies as quarantine.  People are still urged to stay home as much as possible.  Masks and gloves are mandatory when going to a place of business.

Some restrictions have been eased.  We are no longer "Zona Rossa," which means people can enter and leave the municipality without a written permission.  The Saturday vegetable market has returned, but with certain limitations to the number of people inside the pavilion.  Restaurants, fresh pasta stores, gelato and pasticcerie (bakeries) have take-out available by preorder only, with a specified pick up time.  Some construction work has been resumed.

Other businesses will resume in the coming weeks although I am not sure what the restrictions will be on hair salons, photographers and bistros, housewares stores.  It is also possible that some limited dine-in will be allowed, but I doubt we will try that out anytime soon.

We never heard a word about our Permesso di Soggiorno (permit to stay), which expired at the end of November.  Each time we checked online it stated that it was "in progress."  Clearly, in the midst of a worldwide health emergency, a simple permesso is not a high priority.  We couldn't go anywhere anyway!!  But, it was worrisome to us.

Once things opened up a bit, we spoke with a friend of ours who is on the city council.  He called a director of the Questura (State Police) and they said there was some stupid error made (not in our application....not sure what) and all we needed to do was pay an extra 20 euro and that would be that.
I never got a text.  Never got an email.  Nothing.  *********

So, off I went this morning to pay the 20 euro at the Posta.  Masked and gloved...I did not wear my glasses...too much to deal with, especially when they fog up.

The morning weather was an uncertain mix.  The temperature was about 60F. but the skies were bright sun in some areas and storm clouds in others.  I took my chances.  On the way, I passed a lovely balcony with geraniums in bloom.  There were quite a lot of people out, yet every single one ot them wore a mask and gloves. Old and young and everyone in between.

Some repair work was being done at the entry of the shoe store.  I suppose he is getting ready for his opening.  The sun was peeking in and out, but the air was damp.  Rounded the corner to the Posta and saw storm clouds over the mountains.  Perhaps the weather was keeping people in, because there were only five people in line outside.  Everyone complied and kept distance in between.  One lady in line was an employee of the supermarket.  We smiled (our eyes crinkled) and waved at one another.

A roll of thunder passed by, then a short sun shower....by then I was under the eave anyway, although I am not fond of possible lightening.  However, the line moved quickly because it turns out they had four people working inside.

I submitted the form for the Permesso and paid a bill while I was there.  In and out in no time at all.

As I walked past the store where we get dog food (it is a housewares store, but since he sells pet food he was allowed to have limited hours throughout quarantine)  and waved at Donato and Antonetta.  Ciao!!

The receipts were given to our friend in his office...he is going to deliver them himself since he lives near the Questura.  We are told that the new Permesso will be for TWO years.  If so, oh, happy day!  It is a royal pain to apply and waste a day at the Immigration office...not a pleasant experience in any way.  Maybe that is our reward for being good citizens throughout quarantine.  In any case, it's a good excuse for a small celebration.  

I can't live..if living is without you...I can't live....

Here we are...day 50 of quarantine!  Wow.  Who knew?   Fifty days.......

By the way...I am on Facebook...so if you want to see my Quarantine updates, I have made them public.  This.....this is more personal.

So!  What happened in our little corner of the quarantined world today?  The weather was nice.  Almost 70 degrees (Fahrenheit)...but breezy and still a bit chillier than usual.  Inside is always colder than outside in the warm months...because we have stone walls and ceramic floors.....and the wind whips around outside the back door and window....across the hills and valleys from the either the Adriatic or the mountains.  Nevertheless...a very lovely day.

My husband ventured out in mask and gloves to get more gloves...and a couple of light bulbs, feral cat food...another coir mat for the cortile so the ferals can scratch and sit and sleep.  Anything to get off the stone and tile.  He brought home a couple of plants...a fuchsia petunia in a hanging pot and a couple of others for the front...which is a problem because it gets relentless sun...relentless...and very, very hot come the warmer months.  Nothing survives.  So we decided to get a couple of pots for the already there hangers and replace plants throughout the season...sounds a bit heartless, I suppose....but the house needs color...we've tried to find things to survive, but nothing does...short of a cactus....and an ornamental flowering plant cost next to nothing here and they are plentiful.

I did a couple of loads of laundry...small compared to US loads....and was preparing dinner.....when the doorbell rang.  The INSIDE doorbell...that can only be one or two people.....it was Marguerite, my friend and neighbor from across the street.  She brought a piece of pie for two.  I can't tell her that I don't eat fruit....she wouldn't understand...few do, anyway...plus...the language problem.  Nevertheless, it is beautiful and smells like butter and sugar....heaven.......

As the day wore on, it seemed to get nicer outside.  The siren's song......my husband went out to feed the ferals again.....and he didn't come back in.....then I started hearing voices outside.....ok....sure...it happens... succede.....especially on a lovely evening.....Tee was in the front window paying rapt attention......stood up like a prairie dog a couple of times.....What IS going on out there?  

Finally, Tee scrammed...as did Scruff and Calzini...only Imp remained.....they were scared.  Too many noises, too many voices...too much stuff going on out there!

At which point I stood up and I saw Marguerite on one of her balconies tending to plants, Tony (her husband) in the piazzetta,  tending to the plants that grow up on their walls outside...Antonio, another neighbor...and I could hear my husband.

I put shoes on and went outside.  Beautiful evening light glow....a warm evening.....down the street further was little Laura, who is 9 years old and her father...both in masks....they waved "Ciao!"...Tony was in a mask, Antonio was not......Marguerite and Tony's cat was on the engine hood of Tony's car...in her halter and leash....and there was a CROWD of ferals....Mamma, Ink, Lupo, Funky Gray, Black Mamma...Fat Black......cats!  Una folla!!  Nothing special going on...but....something special indeed.....people being "social' in whatever way they could.  Waves.  Greetings.  Hey!  We're here!  We're alive!  Making pies, tending plants, feeding kitties......

I didn't stay long because I had things to do in the kitchen....and I was struck by the reaction of our own kittens....yes, they are still kittens.  Scruff is, just now, in the beginning of his adolescence...he is about one year at this point.  The others are three months behind.  What struck me was their fear.  The front window wasn't even open.....yet, they were frightened.  And they ran to hide.

And hide they did.  I found Tee and Calzini hunkered in the back room in Scruff's cage, making themselves as invisible as possible.  Scruff and Imp were on our bed...not SO terribly scared, but not near the front window.  And, when I sat down, Imp came to me immediately.  He knows....he knows he isn't going anywhere....no one is coming to take him away.  He's safe.  We saved his life. He is well aware of that.  Scruff.....not so much.....but he's learning.

I comforted Tee a couple of times...I could not even really reach Calze....after three times, Missy Tee came out again.  Calze followed soon afterwards.

It just showed me how terribly vulnerable they still are....after being in the streets for 7 or 8 months of their lives...they are terrified of going back.  They want no part of it.  I had had a previous adopted stray who was much the same.  No thanks!  Been there, done that!

Makes me weep for the children...the innocent children ...no one remembers or even speaks about anymore....those small and helpless children ripped from their parents and shoved into cages and afraid and deprived and crying every moment of every day.  I cannot even...even...imagine.  And we, as a country...as a society...as a world....have forgotten them and their needs and their fear.

Nel cielo infinito...

Italian Quarantine Chronicles, Day 33: The temperature has approached 70 F. at long last. Went for a walk along the deserted passaggiata yesterday with Harry, fearing that soon my legs and knees will turn to mush. Some aches and pains....actually, quite a bit of pain....last night, but all was better this morning.

After 15 years, my husband does not know what kind of tea I drink, and so he came home with something I know I can't stand...not one, but two boxes of it. So, today, I became the reluctant "designated shopper." Also, we needed another round of deworming medicine for a kitty and he is afraid he doesn't know how to ask for it. *sigh*

It is a glorious day - Good Friday in Italy - I didn't know what to expect. There is usually a huge procession through the town and lots of church services.

At the first corner, I looked to the left and saw three women triangulated, but chatting through their masks and each one had several bags of supplies. It was clear, then, that the salumeria and butcher shops were open. I went the other way toward the pharmacy and the salumeria I prefer.

No jacket required, the sky was clear blue, the sun was bright and enough to warm me up in just a sweatshirt. I was slightly surprised to see as many people out and about as I did, yet every one of them was wearing a mask and some, like me, had gloves as well. Still, compared to what is usual, there was a decided lack of activity. It made me sad and concerned passing closed store after store, pizza place, restaurant, cafe

.I saw Antonetta...the wife of Donato, who runs the little housewares store that also carries cat and dog food, and so, he is allowed to stay open. At first,, because of the masks, we didn't quite recognize one another...we each hesitated just a bit....then shouted a "Ciao!" across the street.

A milk delivery was just arriving at the salumeria, so I waited outside. I love this store. I love the way it smells. An old fashioned deli, piled high, floor to ceiling with goods. A small freezer, fridge...and his cheese and meat counter....there is barely enough room to fit two people in at a time anyway. Now he has boxes and boxes of inventory that haven't been opened yet or put away. It reminded me of what a house looks like, feels like, just before a move, with boxes everywhere.

Milk man left, I walked in. "Come stai?" Ahhhhhh.....va bene. Black tea, please....and I felt ridiculous just getting tea, which he had to search for among the stacks of boxes....so, I reached over the milk carton sitting in front of the fridge case and grabbed some tortellini, hoping I wouldn't lose my balance. And an 80% chocolate bar - don't judge me - it's supposed to be helpful for arthritis!

Back downhill to the farmacia. There were already two people inside, so I waited. Saw a neighbor..."Buongiorno!"..he was going to the vegetable store just up from the pharmacy. There, I noticed, the woman was taking customer orders from the door...then coming out with a bag. She was in a full blown Hazmat suit, the white overalls...mask, gloves, goggles.

My turn came in the pharmacy..."Io ho bisogno di un Nemex per i gatti." Nemex for cats. The gal went to the back and appeared with the now familiar box. As I nodded and she rang it up, music started BLASTING from the town speakers...!!! LOUD, SOMBER band music....deafening. I nearly jumped, pretty sure I put my hand over my heart. Everyone did! Then we all had a chuckle. Check that volume, please!

From there I headed back, taking in the beautiful flowers, the magnificent sky, and trying to "enjoy" the walk through my mostly empty town.

Near the door at home was little "Lupo," the ugliest kitten I have ever seen. He was tearing up a piece of paper, having kitten fun.

Inside, Imp had turned on the TV and was watching some action movie with things blowing up. The other three were playing ambush/leap frog under, over and around the bed. My husband was on the balcony and the "kids" were tearing around inside, unattended!

Our cases are up to 98, but deaths remain at 8. We wait to hear if this quarantine is extended past the 13th. Meanwhile, though it is getting progressively harder to keep spirits up, we continue to do what we must do.

Update: A documentary about "the oldest procession in Abruzzo"...the tradition in this town for Good Friday...will be telecast twice today for those citizens interested. Churches are closed, as they have been since quarantine began.

I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone....

Italian Quarantine Chronicles, Day 17: I did get my prescriptions sent to me via email. They were in encrypted PDFs, which I could not print. I had to walk up to the pharmacy today with my phone containing the emails.
We had some snow overnight, but it is now about 40degrees Fahrenheit, so the streets are clear.
 
I geared up with mask and gloves and ventured out for the first time in a couple of weeks, other than on my balcony or in the courtyard.

Walking through deserted streets was a bit eerie. The few people I saw were wearing masks. The sight of the lit up green pharmacy sign made me happy.

Luckily, there was no one inside when I arrived and the pharmacist who usually takes care of me waved me inside.

There is now a plexiglass barrier up on the counter. The 3 pharmacists were wearing N95 masks as well as plastic face guards and, of course, gloves.

I opened the email and since I had the "code" memorized to access the actual script, I punched that in too, with my pinky finger because the gloves were making things a bit difficult.
She then (the pharmacist) punched something into their computer and printed out the scripts.

It would be much more efficient if the doctors utilized the technology to send the scripts directly to the pharmacies, eliminating the middle step.

Such a cold, dreary day, very unusual for Italy at the end of March.

 

These streets are usually lined up and down with cars and pedestrians, delivery trucks, and people just enjoying some air and conversation.

Today, Café Centrale, open 24hours, is dark. Just about everything is locked up. Bleak, empty streets. I was surprised to catch a light out of the corner of my eye by the "arches"...it was Café Corso, but the café part was closed up and the coffee selling side was open. Coffee must be considered an essential item!! That made my husband happy since their coffee, we agree, is the best in town.

Saw two police officers pop out of their car and head down my street. ??? I had my pharmacy bag openly displayed. They were not interested in me, though, and were down the block at another home, which I find more than a bit concerning.

 

The numbers are suggesting a glimmer of hope but it really isn't definitive yet. It is far too soon to tell and the overall number shot up again today. Cases in Abruzzo are still rising, but we live in one of the LEAST affected areas of Italy.

Once home, I peeled off the gloves inside out and tossed them, washed my hands, used alcohol on my phone, took off the mask, wiped down the doorknobs. Hopefully I will live to see another day.

Let your mind roll on...

Peeling Off the Layers

Unable to digest another morsel of propaganda, I listened to my charged up iPod.  It was soon apparent that my listening pleasure was taking a dark turn.  And yet, she persisted.  She persisted until the tears were flowing.  Seemed like old times.


This little treatise will be filled, by the way, with tired old phrases and a plethora of metaphors.  Fitting, perhaps, for a tired old lady.


It appears that quarantine has caused my mind to wander to places perhaps best left to memory.  Places of despair.  But I have never been one to run for the comfort and pseudo-safety of fantasy and denial.  As the alcoholic character Alex Cutter said in the film “Cutter’s Way,”  “I take my tragedy straight.”

Last night was spent reflecting upon relationships.  All manner of relationships.  And, not being especially talented in this regard, I will often resort to cliché to get my point across.  Keep in mind that there are many layers to perception and reflection, levels of similarity in the personal and the public, the intimate and the formal since they are “relationships” nevertheless.


You enter a relationship usually with hope and enthusiasm.  So much promise, so much to look forward to, good things to come.  And, for a while, things are good, moving along swimmingly.  (Oh, here we go)  All seems right with the world, easy going, trusting, comfortable.


Time moves on and there are things to do, places to explore, work to do, roofs to insure, families to raise.  The daily business of life goes on and on for years.  With time, the relationship becomes somewhat secondary, something taken for granted.  It’s there, like a blanket when you’re chilly, like a comfortable chair.  In your haste, in your chores, in your daily duties, you might, once in a great while, notice a change here and there.  But those fleeting moments of uncertainty barge headlong into things that must be done.  No time to wonder, no time to question or ruminate.  No time.

Until one day something happens that requires attention.  Something disturbing, maybe drastic, maybe not.  Those little things that nagged at you led straight up to this moment.  Now attention must be paid.


Now, there are some who, at this point in a relationship (an intimate one, a work arrangement, the unspoken contract between citizen and state) will choose to continue to ignore and simply carry on, more and more unhappy, more and more disturbed by the state of affairs.   They will absorb the negative and perhaps even convince themselves that really, there is nothing wrong at all.  They may find ways to cope in denial or construct an entire fantasy and make themselves believe it.  People do this.  I’ve seen it at every level.  I’ve been guilty, at times, myself.  But not ultimately.  Ultimately, die hard realist that I am, the blinders come off.  So, here’s another…you cannot unring a bell.  Once seen, you cannot unsee.
  

What does one do then?  The fantasy creator digs in and takes pride in their misery.  The more the merrier. (I’m sorry)  The denier becomes a martyr of sorts, complaining…but sighing that there is nothing that can be done.  I have to stay with him/her.  I have to keep this job.  That’s just the way things are, it’s the system.  You can’t fight City Hall.


The alternative is action.  You DO something.  You speak up, you protest, you examine, question, maybe you fight.  Maybe you fight and you get scared because you could get hurt, but you know you have to fight to be true to yourself and in order to simply survive
.

Usually, the relationship ends.  What the fantasy builders don’t know is that the relationship ended anyway.  What the deniers don’t know is they are causing themselves tremendous mental anguish. With the end of any relationship there is pain, doubt and the unknown awaits, so there is tremendous fear.  But the misery is over.  So, of course, is the dream.  All that hope and promise, that easy going, comfortable happy time…it is terribly painful to recall and to abandon it forever to the vault of things that used to be and are no more and never will be again.
  

There comes a time, for realists, deniers and fantasy makers, when they know deep down that their partner/employer/government is no longer on their side, does not have their interests in mind, does not care at all and may actually be actively taking steps to do harm. 


As in “The Wizard of Oz,” there is a fraudster behind the curtain.  “Oz” had a happy ending.  There are fraudsters behind many curtains and some just don’t care if you pull back the curtain.  They don’t care at all.  They will merely close it again, pump up the volume and make the pictures on the screen more enchanting.  Others are behind so many layers of curtains it is difficult to pull them back…like when I was young, those elaborate layered curtains were the fashion du jour.  The outer valance and the side curtains…then the inner layer, sometimes sheer, then yet another layer of either curtain or shade or blinds.  Where the hell is the light?


Maybe there isn’t any. Light, that is.  I didn’t say this would have a happy ending.  I only know that I am not fooled, I’m not the type to happily step into fantasyland.  Denial just leads to either fantasy or conflict.
  

“I take my tragedy straight.”