Ah! Sweet mystery of life...

Well, now that things locally have calmed down with regard to Covid, it is time to start tackling things once again that have been sitting on the sidelines.

One of those things was arranging to get some straggling bills paid automatically.

With each paper bill comes a receipt that one has to truck down to either a bank or to the post office, which is also a bank here in Italy.  "Banco Posta."  The upside of using the post office as a bank is that they are literally everywhere.  The downside is that their website pretty much stinks.  It has a habit of "going down" frequently, that is. 

And, online banking here is not quite the same as in the US.  It is a bit more convoluted, not intuitive and therefore more difficult to maneuver. Want to add a payee for a one time only payment?  You have to go to "transfers."  ????   Want to add a payee for recurrent payments to be made automatically?  NO can do.  Nope.  No way.  

To accomplish that feat, you have to go in person to the post office.  You must have a little document that also comes with each bill.  This document asks for bank information, address, etc.  It asks for this information more than once, which I don't understand.  Regardless, I filled out two of these little buggers, one for the infrequent water bill and another for the once a month internet bill. 

I have had unpleasant experiences in the past trying to get this mysterious and complicated task done. That is because there is a mysteriously unpleasant person at the post office and this person is the one in charge of activating automatic debits from accounts. 

This time I came with back-up...my Italian teacher. Off we went to the post office, fully expecting to encounter Oscar the Grouch and somehow muddle through.  I am not quite sure how it happened or why, but we were directed to go to a clerk instead.  

That nice lady was nervous, the post office director was standing over her shoulder.  She said, "I've never done this before."  Well, of course you haven't done it before...it isn't YOUR JOB!!!  Oscar G. was in his private office doing nothing with no one. 

She took my little documents, my passport, my codice fiscale (the Italian social security number) my Permesso di Soggiorno and my "citizen ID" card.  I wondered if I needed to pump my fist in case they wanted blood.  She tapped away at the computer and finally asked me to insert my bank card into the thingamajig and something printed out.  All was returned to me, including the little documents, and then she said that it would all goes to you-know-who.....Mr. Grouch himself!  Should we wait?  No....all done.  Arrivederci.  Ok.....not sure what happened, but it happened. We were done.

Forty-five minutes later my phone rang.  "Pronto."  She spoke rapidly and all I understood was "Mi capsici?" which means "Do you understand me?"  Hahahaha.  No. I do not understand.  Oy vey.  So, she spoke more slowly and the gist was that I had to come back on Monday and 10 am.  Why was yet another mystery.  I texted my teacher who said it was no problem for her to be there.

I got up early.  Since retiring, I am NOT a morning person.  I loathe getting up early.  Got up, fed the clowns  (7 cats) and suddenly it was time to go, without having had tea and feeling rather grouchy myself.  It's also very hot.  The good news was that in the morning it was cloudy, so at the very least, the blistering sun was not shining down. Nevertheless, I had worked up a nice sweat when I got there and the line was out the door.  Not a surprise on a Monday morning.  People here, as everywhere else, can get their noses WAY out of whack if it appears you are trying to jump the line.  So, I kept repeating to everyone that I had an appointment. Luckily, they believed me. Perhaps the envelope I held containing every piece of documentation and identification I possess persuaded them.

Aaaaannnnddd, there he was.  Good old Oscar.  I stood at his doorway and he looked at me with no expression whatsoever.  He didn't say a word.  So, I repeated yet again that I had an appointment and with his eyes he motioned me to the chair.  

There used to be a regular desk in here, but now there is smaller, round desk and, of course, there is a plexiglass barrier due to the pandemic.  However, the smaller, round desk with the barrier makes it impossible to put anything down.  I had to start finding my documents, codice, passport and ID's in my lap.  Didn't I do all this on Friday?  Why, yes!!  Yes, I did!!!   But here I was, being asked to produce everything all over again.  Deja vu, anyone??

My teacher arrived, so I knew he couldn't  pull too much nonsense with her around. 

So, yes, he took everything once again that I had given the nice lady before.  After typing and printing and typing some more, he handed everything back.  I put it all away because no one wants to lose their passport or an Italian identity card.  Then he asked for my codice and ID card again.   Alright, I'm freaking fuming now, none of this is easy in my damned lap.  You KNOW it all fell to the floor, don't you??  Finally, I have to sign on the little computer screen that is impossible to see because the recessed lights in the ceiling shine directly on to the screen.  Alrighty then!!!  Is it done?  

Well, the water bill was done.  Supposedly.  Hopefully.  We'll find out at some later date.  And the internet?  "Oh, we can't do that." But WHY???  Some code is wrong, some code on the little document provided by the internet company itself is wrong and does not work, too bad, so sad. 

My teacher pressed a bit more and he actually tried to enter the information.  Nothing. Did he call the internet company to get a correct code?  Don't be silly.  We were done.  Toodles. 

I asked my teacher what had we accomplished on Friday?  She said, "We accomplished having him accomplish it today."  Except it's still only half done. 

To be continued......sometime......I don't know when, it's a mystery.  

I'd be the first one to agree that I'm preoccupied with...me.

** This post was written in a small fit of indignation and is not meant to disparage an entire swath of people.  Just those that I refer to as "snobs."

I will attempt to do this as delicately, as diplomatically as I can.  However, there are no guarantees that I will succeed.  I might hazard a guess that I will fail miserably, in fact...so, tread with care.  I will not, however, apologize for my sentiments or opinions, based on my experiences.  If someone is offended or reads with hurt feelings or, better yet, huffiness and snorts....so be it.

There is a large concentration of people from a certain "kingdom" here in this little obscure hill town in Italy.  Most are part-time residents...or, as locals say, "tourists."  A very few are full-time residents.  

We speak the same native language with minor accent, word and meaning differences.  In other words, we speak the same language, but different dialects.

There is something I have come to despise....a certain attitude that couches itself in small, nearly innocuous phrases and social slights.  

It started with the door.  MY door.  The door to our home.  It had been a kind of a puke yellow.  A really awful nothing "color" that made me slightly sick every time I saw it.  I'm sure there is a wood door underneath...but how many layers of paint?  What kind of shape is the wood in?  It wasn't worth it to find out.  I had the door painted.  And it pleased me.

So, a certain male person with whom we had contact one day said to  me...."Oh..what do you think of that BLUE door???  *he left out, but I heard "that DREADFUL blue door" in his delivery.

Well, jackass, if you hadn't noticed, but you should have, that BLUE DOOR just happened....recently, because I asked for it, I wanted it and it makes me happy every time I see it.  In my opinion, and this is what my reply was..."It beats the hell out of baby shit yellow."

It isn't just "blue"...it is aqua.  It reminds me of the sea, and we are just west of the Adriatic.  It is a bright and snappy color and I love it.  Yet, he tried so very hard to insult me.

There were others....one who, although I thought he was quite nice, decided it was his mission to educate me on the history of this town and was bound and determined to lend me a book to read for my enlightenment.  I guess he forgot.  He never mentioned it again.

A man who is also part-time, with his wife....to whom we have never been "formally" introduced, but we have seen and spoken to, nevertheless, several times.  She never remembers.  "Do I know you?"  "Have we met?"  Really?  No, lady, only about 4 or 5 times. Are their memories so short?  This isn't a very big town.  Or are we just that disposable?  Ah, who cares?  Americans......meh.  Such plebeians. 

We were at an "event"...a night of music and wine....and there they were, this couple.  We saw them.  They saw us.  Nothing.  Not even a nod of acknowledgement. "Have we met?"  We had freaking dinner with the husband!!!  What..ev..ah!

And the latest.  Yet another......so, I see a pattern developing, an unpleasant one.  I do not like to make generalizations about people, but....I'm being helped along here.  So, the latest.  Guy is boisterous and has a big mouth...well, yeah, ok..boisterous.  Big smarmy smile...HAHAHAHA.....always laughing.....life is just a bowl of treacle.....at any rate.....in our "conversation"....he said he looked at a place that had "a view of the parking lot!  BWAHAHAHAHAH!!!!"...yeah...that's us.  Yes, there is a parking lot below.  Not visible in the summer, only when the leaves fall in the winter.  And so what....it is a panoramic view..not JUST of a parking lot...in one small lower quadrant...but...this....

The cityscape to the west...gorgeous no matter what the season or time of day,

And this.....

 Olive groves, farms and vineyards...and the Adriatic...some "parking lot."

It seems to me that certain people go out of their way to slight and insult because they feel so very superior.  I am not sure how or why they are "superior" but they certainly seem to think they are.  I must hone my skills and learn how to dish back what is slopped onto my plate.  Give me a bit of time...I will figure it out.

When you wish upon a star......

 I left church...the Catholic one...and every one...at age thirteen.  I had no more use for the empty words, platititudes.....and the phony sanctity of the people who marched dutifully in each and every Sunday.

I  sought answers....a read a lot, I took courses in Mythology (which included Christianity  by the way)  and I came up with nothing.

I am very based in reality.  So much so that there were times in my life that I actually wished I could "go mad"....because it seemed to work out so well for those around me who did....a sister of mine, who wound up in the care of others for the rest of her life...and my ex husband, who was coddled in the arms of his well-to-do parents thereafter.  Gosh.  Wouldn't that  be nice?   Just say..."Fuck it!"...and have someone else pick up all the pieces.   I could never manage to go there. 

Nevertheless, I have had moments of what I refer to, to myself, as "moments of knowing."  I don't pretend to know anything.  Not a damned thing.  But, I had a dream in high school the night before an oral exam in Spanish class.  And I was called on to recite the alphabet, in Spanish.  In my dream, I did just that and it was perfect.  The next day, I had that test and I was asked to recite the alphabet.  And it was perfect.

When, as a young adult, floundering around with no direction, I walked onto the campus of C.W.Post College on Long Island, I felt it.  That feeling......that feeling of....this is right.  Somehow, this is right.  This is where I belong.  And I did, at least, for a few years. 

Before the call from the obstetrician about my pregnancy, I knew my baby was a girl.  The fact just landed on me one day....it landed and it was, indeed, correct.

My ex and I were looking for a decent place to live in California.  I saw an ad and made an appointment.  That night I dreamt about a house on a hill...with a deck...and a view of San Francisco Bay.  We drove up the house the next day...and there it was, just as I had dreamt it.....and we lived there for three years.  Nothing was perfect.....mind you....but it was where we were and it was exactly as I pictured it in my dream.

When I came here to Italy to find a home, I looked at seven places.  When I walked into this one.....I was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and what is now the dining room.  I felt something....like....how can I describe it?  A certainty.  A light, gossamer curtain coming down....here you are....this is it....this is where you belong.  And I said, out loud...to my realtor..."I love this place."  It is where I am now. 

I am the least "spiritual" person I can think of.....and I don't even know how to explain this without sounding absolutely nuts.  I have no explanation for it...makes no sense to me whatsoever...but I will SWEAR to what I saw...and I saw...clearly...and for quite a while..like 10 minutes worth of "a while"...both the faces of Joan Rivers and Robin Williams in the sky...in clouds....clear...clear... unmistakable....Why?  Who the hell am I?  Why?  Clear as the sun shining on those clouds....the two of them side by side, smiling....Am I crazy???  I SEE this!!!

After my beloved Steven died (German Shepherd/Great Dane mix)...my beautiful boy....I was heartbroken and despondent.  About a month later, on the bus coming out of the Port Authority....there was a HUGE sign on the side of building...a picture of a gorgeous Shepherd.....It stayed there for a couple of weeks.....sometimes I thought about asking someone else if they could see it too......but I never had the nerve.  I could not see a product....a brand name...nothing.  Just a gorgeous dog.  Is it only me?  I was literally too afraid to ask anyone else if they saw it too.

Tonight, out on the balcony, I saw a dog face in the clouds.  Floppy ears....snoot...slightly open mouth, slightly protruding tongue.  It could have been Daffy...or Steve...or Harry.  My twisted mind and hurting heart wanted to believe it was all three.....telling me it was ok.  

If anyone asks, this is a work of fiction and I deny everything.....I do not see signs, read horoscopes, believe in conspiracy theories, read tea leaves or consult psychics.  I am not crazy.  And I know many people have much greater problems than my own. I have also never told anyone, ever, about any of this.

Dear Universe, I hope my sweet babies are alright. 

After all the loves of my life....after all the loves of my life....

 I've had cats and dogs my entire life.  Always.  A house is not a home without someone of a different species, as far as I am concerned.

My first true love was Huey, my orange and white, gigantic baby.....sweet Huey, benevolent overlord of his tiny kingdom and my life.  Found in the basement of a building....his first cancerous growth was discovered at age 8.  He lived on Long Island, in the midst of New York City....and in Northern California.  He lived through pneumonia.  I cooked for him for the last year of his life and he died just before Christmas.  He made a point of telling me it was "time."

Did I love the others less?  How do you gauge that?  Or, did I love some just a bit more?  Should I feel guilty?  I always did my best for everyone...I think...I hope.

Garp was a beautiful Golden, from a pet store in Manhattan...a designer dog who became my bug hunter extraordinaire....and jogging buddy.  He, too, moved to California...and then to Michigan...and for a large dog....he stayed with us a long time...15 years.  

Daffy was a total sweetheart...a gorgeous Springer Spaniel who garnered compliments wherever she went. Always compliant, always happy....always the supreme lady. 

And then there was Steve.  A pound puppy.  They said he was 8 weeks, but his eyes were still blue...so, no way.  Stevie....my gorgeous, wonderful Steve.  My protector, my friend, my companion.  I could see him looking out the window in Astoria, Queens...waiting for me to appear as I was walking home from the train.  Steve....best buddy....huggy bear...warning me of danger...but a total mush.  I can't vouch for how he would react to someone posing a threat...he was protective. So handsome and so smart.....he told a joke.  I had a cat named Rathbone, "Bone" for short.  Steve wanted to play.  I said "Go get your bone!"  (He had an "air bone"...like a tennis ball in a bone shape)  He wiggled his butt, went to the couch where "Bone" was sleeping and tried to lift him up with his nose!!  I said, "No, not THAT bone!"  and he wiggled more, and snorted.....he told a joke and he knew it!!!

It took me years to get over his loss.  I loved my Steven so very much.  He was an extraordinary individual.  But I knew, after time, that there was, perhaps, one more.

So, one day, after I retired from 44 years of working...we went looking for another pup.  In a Petco.  He wasn't there, but we were encouraged to come back.  When we returned an hour later...there he was.  A black and white dog....scared, a bit skittish...he kept looking out the window doors.......as if he wanted to be anywhere else, but he did come over and sniff me, and he let me pet him and hold his face for a moment.  

Most of his story is in the two little children's books I wrote....I was going to do a third and complete a trilolgy....his amazing adventures here in Italy.....but time and events were not on my side.  I am now thinking Harry was a bit older than originally claimed....he developed white eyebrows and a bit of a beard......nevertheless, this boy inspired me to dare to do something I never would have done....and it brought joy to me....and he seemed to enjoy his days at "events" and the attention he got.  And he certainly enjoyed Italy...his friends, his streets...his good smelly places.  

I wish I could see him leap down the halllway again in total joy....because it was time for a walk!

I keep thinking I hear him.  I keep thinking it's time to feed him, change his water, get him outside.  I keep thinking I will turn around and see him. But he isn't there. I know this pain.....I have been here before.

This is grief....hello, darkness..my old friend.   

If I didn't have seven rescued streets cats I might be in total despair.  These little creatures came along at just the right time. And again, as always...who exactly is saving whom? 

Harry Spotter....the sweetest soul ever.....never growled..ever...for any reason...sweet, docile, usually happy and full of joy...cat whisperer....fellow dog whisperer.....I hope Steve and Daffy are there for you....you would like each other bunches.   Huey, too.

And Basil...and Bone....and Basta......

How do you measure love?