What am I doing here?

 Thanksgiving "weekend'....well, it is only a holiday in the US.   Just a regular Thursday here.  The weather, while still warmish, is getting chillier and wetter, sometimes dipping into the 30s at night, usually in the 50s by day.

I made breaded chicken cutlets, gravy, mashed potatoes and baked carrots with an asiago cream sauce.  And we had cornetti (croissants).  There's enough potato and gravy left for potato pancakes at another meal.

We opened a bottle of Prosecco.  However, I had to keep steering the conversation, such as it was, away from the events of the morning.

Two years ago.....yes, two years ago.....a leak was noticed in a cantina downstairs and also a small rivulet leaking outside the building.  We do not have any cantina space in this building, but, since we live here, we chipped in our fair share to repair the leak.  We have homeowners insurance, which made a sizeable payment for the repair.  The leak, itself, was confined (other than the outside part) to the cantina of a certain real estate agent in town who owns the apartment upstairs.

As a result of the repair, we learned that the majority of said leak was coming from the small apartment next door to us.  Two years ago, the old lady who lived upstairs moved to the apartment downstairs since she was having trouble dealing with the stairs.   As I said, it was TWO YEARS AGO that the problem started.  Previously, there was no leak.

The apartment next door is owned by a woman who wanted to sell it at an exhorbitant price.  She eventually rented to the old lady.  Someone, we don't know who, sort of "takes care" of this old lady, who really should not be living alone, but what do I know?   Anyway, a cleaning lady comes in TWICE a week....twice a WEEK!...and thoroughly swabs down the deck, so to speak.  Water, water everywhere.  Why on earth this has to be done twice a week is beyond me....who gets THAT dirty?  It isn't a hospital.  So, between leaky pipes and twice weekly mini-floods....yeah, there's trouble in the cantina.  

Our pipes are not leaking.  Our pipes are not the problem.  And, in spite of this, we paid our share for the repairs.

One day we got a lovely little letter in the mail from an attorney for the owner of the cantina that owns the apartment upstairs.  It claimed the problem persisted and they wanted more money.  An amount was not specified but they wanted the money NOW.  

Well, after remarking on the blatant unprofessionalism of the letter.....you want payment now?  How much?  For what?  We already paid...why come after us?  Bottom line: we had to hire our own attorney.  Oh, joy.

So, it turns out that both the real estate guy (who owns the upstairs apartment and the cantina) and the woman who owns the place next door have no homeowners insurance.  What he is trying to do is squeeze money out of the owner of the place next door (she refused to pay, even though her pipes were at fault) and out of us...because, well, Americans, I guess.  We must be loaded.

We have had several people stomp through our place a couple of times already...look around, look under the sink....look at the balcony.  Ok....nice to see you, bye.

Well, happy holiday, they showed up (surprise!!) yesterday morning.  Couple of men, couple of women, in and out, in and out, leaving the damned door wide open.  "Chiusa la porta, PER FAVORE!!!"  I didn't want a scared cat bolting out the door.

There was someone downstairs in the cantina.  They had a drill.  They were using the drill.  They used the drill to drill right through the ceiling downstairs into our kitchen and right through a kitchen tile in front of our sink and dishwasher.  What the actual HELL???

My husband was livid. LIVID!  Expletives flying all over the place.  I was livid, too....and watching the door and checking on cats...omigod.  

One of the men...I really don't know who is who....said, in English, "We will fix this."  Well, goody...you bet...we do not have an extra tile.  So now the search is on for a tile that will match as closely as possible the ones we have throughout the house, other than in the living room.  We have no idea how old the tiles are (they are not old old....not historical or anything, but finding a good match will be a challenge)  

So....here we are, with an absolutely ridiculous and unnecessary HOLE in our floor that we have covered with tape so nothing decides to crawl in, and no frigid blasts of cold air.....isn't it lovely?  

So, we got through Thanksgiving, such as it is nowadays...hoping to find one single freaking floor tile to sort of match.  Will they actually pay?  Hahahahahahahahahahahaha.......

Shake it up, baby

 Don't get me wrong....I have posted already about the clean, pristine air, the amazing, natural food and the gorgeous vistas.  And, I don't "blame" Italy for the things I do complain about.  Much of what I find frustrating is because we are in a small town.  Would I rather be somewhere else?  Likely, but there are tax advantages to be here which expats like us would not have in a larger town or small city.  So, here we are.

We live on what is called a "piazzetta"...not a piazza, which is larger and likely has businesses.  This is a small piazzetta at the end of a narrow block that leads to the passaggiatta that rings around the outside on this side of town.  Much like the dead end blocks I knew as a kid that ended in what we called "courts"...a rounded section at the end.  There are no businesses here, other than a small dance studio for little girls.  Just us folks, a couple of little tiny children...a teen.  

Someone decided this would be a great place to hold a 3 night "festa."  The town granted a permit for it, which really surprises me, but.....

This was what I saw this morning right outside our front door.  

Last night, starting at 7pm and going to midnight, they had food and music.  Meaning there were amplifiers right outside our door and our window.  Right OUTSIDE our living room.  So, for the sake of this "festa" the residents were all disrupted and inconvenienced and downright angry. 

Oh, yeah, and those people with cars?  They had to move then and keep them moved for FIVE days. 

Because we had been out earlier in the day, we had pizza to heat in the microwave.  I holed up in the bedroom with Netflix (and earplugs) and several scared cats.  My husband was in the kitchen with his computer.  The living room was unlivable. And it will be unlivable tonight and tomorrow night, too.  Even with everything shut, including our front shutters, the relentless boom of the speakers penetrated our home.  BOOM...BOOM...BOOM.

When I was finally tired enough to go to bed, I returned my computer to the living room for charging.  The damned room was shaking, as if a small earthquake was going on ....and on....and on.

Public piazzas are there for the public.  There are businesses all around.  Yes, there are some residents, but they have to know what living in or near a public piazza means.  THIS is NOT a public piazza.  I'm angry that I cannot enjoy my own fucking living room.  I'm angry about the relentless noise.  My husband has told me three times today that his ears are still ringing.  I'm angry that the town would allow this to take place in a residential area.    Poor judgement, poor management....whatever.  In my opinion, this just isn't right and likely would not happen in a less rural environment.

It don't come easy....

We were up at 6am.  It was still as dark as the middle of the night and it was gently raining.  The cats were curious....."what's you doin' up?"  I had some tea and a piece of toast because there is a medication I MUST take with food, so they say.  Ugh....I cannot STAND getting up in the dark and I can't stand eating as soon as I wake up.  Bleh!

We left the cats dry food....and walked around the corner to wait for our friend who was driving us into Pescara.  Today we go BACK to the Questura (police) for our permessi.  Joy.

We got slightly stuck behind a slowpoke and then at one point up ahead the cars came to a stand still, so we got off onto a bit of "highway" that sort of zipped into the city.  It was, after all, "rush hour in the big city."

                                                  Pescara Questura, Sept 2023

We got there still with some time to spare, but the sight of about 10 to 12 people milling about outside did not inspire confidence.

It was still drizzly and chilly.  We stood for a bit and finally I said "Scusa" to the young man in front of me and went inside.  Both benches were vacant, so I sat and soon my husband walked in too.  

Eventually, an officer came out from the back room and asked who we were, why we were there...looked at our IDs and appointment papers.  He told a couple of young women who had wandered in to go back outside, along with my husband.  He allowed me to stay.

After waiting nearly a half an hour, I was called up to the window....I signaled my husband.  With that, the young police officer behind the window did a cursory flip through our papers.  He asked for my passport and permesso.  Then he said...."You have not been here 5 years."  I stood there wide-eyed.  My husband began to protest.  He said it again....."No, no...it is not five years until November 3."  At this point, I rolled my eyes.....two weeks from now?  What is this???

Well, apparently, this is "police humor."  Had we not been sleep deprived and nervous.....maybe...maybe we would have found some levity in this, but that was not the case.  The officer went on to say, "You have to come back on November 3."  I said, "Fine, what time?"    With that it seemed the joke was over and he continued to process our papers.  I suppose, because they screwed up the appointments the first time and this was our second attempt and HE was the very same young gentleman from the first time that he thought he was being funny.  His attempt fizzled. (So funny I forgot to laugh)

His buddy at the other window (there are only two) had made a similarly bone head attempt two years ago when he said that our American bank account information wasn't in Italian.  To which my response was "Sono numeri"....they are numbers.  Ha ha....very funny....not Italian.  😖

At this point, the guy at the other window was free, so he took my husband.  I was asked where I was born and what is my phone number.  Then I had to provide my signature on an electronic gizmo thing.  Then I had to have a couple of fingers printed...also electronic.  And then he took the passport photo we had done recently and popped it into the computer and that was that.  "Buongiorno!"  Both of them with big smiles on their faces.  Good thing there was glass between us.  Sheesh.  (I'm sure they are nice guys and I was just in a VERY bad mood)

We got home by 11am, as the skies were clearing.  I fed the cats and gave Scruffy his asthma medicine.

By this time, we were both famished.....we walked up to Bar Centrale.  It was early by pranzo standards, so there was a large selection.  My husband had white lasagna, I had penne in tomato sauce with cheese and peas.  I also had gelato.  Then I fell asleep for two hours!

Now we wait.  If all goes well, we will have our "Carta Permanente" and not have to go through this procedure every year.  Fingers crossed!

Don't know where they're goin' and my friend, neither do I....

 It is time to renew our permessi yet again.  We filled out the forms.  We gathered all the materials.  We went to the post office and handed them in to be sent to the Questura (police).  The post office supposedly contacts the Questura on the spot via computer and issues you an appointment.  We are evaluated as a couple.  It's the way it is done.  We were, for the very first time, given appointments on different days.  VERY different days. !!???????  Is this a mistake?  The answer we got was a shrug.

Soooooooooooo, today was MY day.  Luckily, our friend was able to drive us.  He (they, he and his wife) picked us up at 8:30am.  Godawful hour, as far as I'm concerned.  I had to get up at 6am and get ready and have the cats fed, too.  (I got up at 4:30 am for several years, and 5am for many others.....I am royally sick of pushing myself out of bed in the middle of the night)  I skipped dinner last night and anything this morning because my stomach, after a year of trauma, can still be unpredictable.  Off we went.

The day was absolutely gorgeous and riding through the hills to Pescara there were views of homes literally dripping with bougainvilla and oleander and other lush greenery.  We arrived about a half hour early, so our friends dropped us off and we just went to the corner and sat for a bit.

 When it approached 10am we headed to the Questura, the Immigration Office.  We were happy that there wasn't a line.  I went inside because there are two (uncomfortable) benches. It didn't take them very long to call my name.  

The officer behind the desk was young and handsome.  He said, pointing at my husband, "Who is this?" He took my paper and my passport and disappeared into the back.  When he came back, he said we should have had an appointment together.  NO KIDDING!!!  I told him the post office issued the appointments.  He said we had to come back in October, on my husband's date since we were supposed to be together.  BUT......it turns out that the date he was given in October is a Holiday!!!  Yeah, so,  sorry.......and he disappeared again.  Then when he came back he said October is booked, so he took my phone number, went back again, and came out again saying we would be called.  When?  Don't know.

Ahhhhh, Italian bureaucracy.  Don't know.  November?  December?  Don't know.  

So, that was that.  We made the trip for no reason whatsoever.  If he knew immediately that it was mistake, why couldn't someone have contacted us beforehand and remedied the situation?  I was laughing, my husband wasn't. 

On the way back, we stopped for coffee at a gas station.  They have THE best cappuccino around.  Really, at a gas station cafe.  THE best.  

Got home famished and had a half sandwich of turkey.  Now we both feel like we've been stomped on.  And so I wait, phone at the ready 24/7 until we hear from them.  I do hope, I really, really do hope it doesn't take forever.

Boom! What you do to me!

 Real food, Part II

Yes, I am still waxing poetic about the food here.  

I heard there is a show...is it Netflix?...that deals with the horrors of processed foods and animal products.

I am not a vegetarian, although I think I would be if I weren't married.  That being said, the only meat I ingest is poultry.  And an occasional can of tuna.  I gave up pork after stopping at a farm when my daughter was little.  She wanted to see the pigs.  They totally broke my heart and I didn't touch pork again.

I gave up beef after reading about arthritis and what foods can cause problems.  

The thing is, even Italians didn't eat A LOT of meat many years ago.  I read a book that was loaned to me about the history of this area.  In it I learned that even when most people were agrarian, they usually only ate "meat" maybe twice a year, Christmas and Easter.  And when that was done, they stretched it out in every way imaginable, right down to boiling bones for broth.  They also shared what they had with friends and neighbors. 

Anyway, in sharp contrast to the aisles and aisles of "snack foods" I was accustomed to before (here I use the term "food" lightly) there is one small section in our local supermarket dedicated to "snacks."  That's because, once again, they are natural, rather than loaded with artificial colors, flavors, what have you.  

There are taco chips.  Just taco chips, plain taco chips.  NO honey mustard, or sour cream and chive, or hot pepper....the list goes on.  Same for potato chips, which, by the way, also have less salt than their US counterparts.

And then, much to my delighted surprise, just when I was having cravings for what we called "cheese doodles" (which I now understand come in super hot, extra crunchy and who knows what else?) these appeared on the shelf!   Yes!  An Italian cheese doodle!  Baked in the oven!  REAL cheese.  No artificial anything.  No preservatives. No bright orange powder slopping up your hands or clothes.  Also, no gigantic, supersize bags.  Less is more.  They are a bit larger than their overseas cousins with no tiny bits flopping about, just easy to eat (and digest) real food.  

Beyond these "snack foods" the Italians themselves have tarallini.  They are, of course, all natural and oven baked.  They come plain, or with garlic and onion, or rosemary.  They are a bit more filling, shaped like giant Cheerios.....something more appropriate for cooler weather, which I hope is just around the corner.  

In the meantime, cornetti formaggi!! Yay!

Hot diggity., dog diggity

 Have I ever waxed poetic about the food here?  If not, I am about to.

There have been some surprises.....such as the Italian love of potatoes.  They love French Fries and there is even pizza with fries on it, or one that I myself like, which has bits of soft baked potato on it, mozzarella and sausage.  Croquettes, mashed, side dishes....lots of potatoes.  Who knew?

That being said, the most amazing thing for an American to discover is pure, fresh, unadulterated FOOD.

There are laws here, laws against harmful additives and preservatives.  Even familiar (global ) brands like Heinz and Hellmann's have to adhere to the requirements here or their products will not be sold.  So, mayonnaise has three ingredients.  Foods are emblazoned with the words "Senza olio di palma"..."No palm oil." 

When we first arrived, I spent far too much time reading the labels on food products because I was in awe of the fact that there were no additives, no long strings of equally long indecipherable and unpronounceable words in the list of ingredients.  Just.....food.  Even snacks, like potato chips and taco chips and the Italian version of a cheese doodle.  Nothing weird and no artificial "cheese product" either.  And no orange powder getting all over the place!

The vegetables are, for the most part, local.  Never before have I so consistently had lettuces with white stalks.  I used to search and search in the US, and often settle for one that was the "least brown."  

The other big surprise was the popularity of hot dogs, which are often called "wurstul" here. They are a whole different animal here, so to speak. Not only are they a bit larger than their American counterparts, but they have no nitrites or preservatives, and "chicken" dogs are easy to find.  I remember searching for them in the US, often to no avail.  As with potato, you will see "wurstul" on pizza. 

But the difference doesn't stop there.  The buns are not the same either.  Meaning they are not squishy soft styrofoam, but they are actually bread.  They have substance and flavor.  Also, no artificial ingredients.  They are not split, either, so you better have a good, sharp knife to cut them with.

And while I cannot find any sauerkraut, I have not problem substituting grilled onions.  They agree with my stomach better, anyway.  The cheddar here isn't very "cheddar-y" so I use provolone instead.

And, while French's brand sells yellow mustard here, I have found that regular Italian mustard has much more flavor.  The local deli here has Dijon "hot" mustard that has become my personal favorite.

Between the quality of the bun and the size of the dog and everything else, after one I am stuffed.    

It seems Italians don't really do pasta salads, which I found surprising.  REAL Italian pasta (elbows, which are ridged, fusilli and orrecchietti) make excellent, and also filling, salads.  Unfortunately, the good Italian brands are not sold in the US. I found that Trader Joe's had some decent pasta, but even that doesn't compare to the real deal here. 

We are in yet another "heat wave," hopefully the last of this summer, so chicken dogs, turkey burgers and pasta salads are often on the menu.  Along with a quick focaccia pizza or an easy penne alla vodka, minus the vodka. 

Hopefully September will be beautiful as usual.  In the meantime, Buon Ferragosto!

 

It's too hot, too hot baby...gotta run for shelter, gotta run for shade

Honestly, I don't remember now how many days it has been.....hot.  Like NYC, these small and large Italian towns are made of stone and brick.  They bake in the sun.  It is like an oven.

It hit one hundred degrees Fahrenheit yesterday.  Today we held at 95.  

These temperatures were unheard of just a few years ago.  IF...and that is a big "if"...If they happened,, it was for a day..or two.  Not weeks.  Not months. 

I have stayed inside most of the time, only going out if I must.  I had to go out today....thank goodness, early in the morning before the blistering heat set in.  It was 90 degrees at 8am.  

I needed x-rays.  The hospital was hot.  The halls were hot.  The elevators were hot.  There were a few small spots with some cool relief...behind the receptionist in the radiology department.  And while it wasn't great, the actual radiology department was better than the waiting room, or the hallway.  This was the hospital I hate that I will never, ever go back to for any kind of actual care.  But I remember one year ago, when I had emergency surgery in Chieti.  The surgical unit was great.  The ER was great.  But when they finally moved me up to the room I would spend the next two weeks in, it was stifling.  

I also noticed today that the radiology department had a decent bathroom.  It was complete.  AND it had toilet paper...the toilets had lids!!!  There was hot and cold water! (Probably for the benefit of the radiologists)  Patient rooms are not equipped with such "luxuries."  I never was able to take a shower.  Sometimes there was no  hot water.  Sometimes the toilet didn't have a rim....just the porcelain....real nice for a female.  Sometimes...often...no toilet paper.  

Well, anyway....here we are in a heat wave...like many other places in the world.  Luckily, as uncomfortable as it is, it is not as bad as many other locations in the US and Europe.  We have so far lucked out.  Supposedly tomorrow we get a bit of a respite and the temperature backs off to a nice, cool 80 something.

I cannot understand how anyone can keep ignoring this blaring siren of climate change.  It isn't "summer"..it is an inferno.  It is stifling.  It is dangerous and frightening and no one is doing a damned thing about it.  They have to destroy courts first, and ban books, and take away human rights....and make money, money, money.   I am not just talking about the US.

I never thought there would be any advantage to being old....until now.   Sometimes I wonder if I am old enough.

Bill! I love you so, I always will.....

 Years ago, when we lived in New Jersey....I was still ...we both were still...working in Manhattan.  It was brutal.  Just literally 12 miles west of the city, yet two stinking hours away.  Drive?  Sometimes...it could be done...VERY early in the morning....before the traffic jams.  I mean...early.  And then there were the tolls and the cost of a garage for the day.

It was bad enough trying to get in via mass transit. More "reliable" but not cheap.  And very time consuming.  Going in the morning, early....early morning..wasn't so bad.  Except that it was basically the middle of the night, but the commute was tolerable.  Quiet.  Dark, for the most part.  But it was still night for most of the normal people. 

Getting home was a totally different story.  Crowds.  Tired and angry people.  Spent.  Crowded subways.  Crowded buses.  Lines. OMIGOD...sometimes the lines in the Port Authority would make me cry...literally.  All the way down the escalator.  Was the escalator working?  Was it busted or was it turned off because of the crowd?  

Once you got to the top...where then? Where is "the line?"  God forbid, don't get out of it, SOMEONE will call you out and want to kill you!

I remember one evening when a lovely gentleman seemed to notice that I was suffering (I have 2 kinds of arthritis) and I do not try to advertise that fact, but he tried to get me "ahead' in the line and I declined and he got a bit upset.  I tried to explain to him that I didn't want special treatment, that people took it the wrong way.  He happened to be a black man, and I think HE took it the wrong way, but we were able to come to an amenable conclusion.  Oy.

Eventually I managed, temporarily, to work out an arrangement so I could work three days a week rather than five.  I didn't care, thank goodness, about the pay, but it made it easier for me to see my doctor and also to rest and finish my online degree.  This would, however, have consequences later on.

Also, while I was home two days a week, I joined a local gym.  It was on the main street in town and I had passed it sometimes.  I noticed that people inside had gray hair...some of them, anyway.  I noticed guitars on the walls.  It was called "Mr. Bill's"...like the old Saturday Night Live character. 

One day I mustered up the courage to go in.  I had been gaining weight for years and could not shake it.  Of course, I was trapped in a commuter lifestyle...but I had eliminated all sweets and fats as best I could and still....still......

So, I walked in and this bald, lean man approached me...friendly...introduced himself...Mr. Bill!!  Sat me down at a desk toward the back....and we started talking and soon I recall saying..."Hello!"...it was Cody...his big black and white dog....just came up and stuffed his head under my hand..and it was...love.

Yeah, so I joined.  Monthly fee...doesn't matter how many times you come in.  He personalizes your workout...so I was told what to do and how many times and I had a paper to fill out each time I came to prove I did it!!!  You could do more...if you wanted...which I did...I nearly killed myself on the treadmills.  

I managed to eventually lose a few pounds, maybe 10 at the most.  What I gained was camaraderie.  I gained a sense of belonging to not just the community of Mr. Bill's but of the community in which I lived.  I had an identity.  I didn't just live to go to work and come back and do it again.  I had friends.  Mr. Bill organized walks.  One was on the summer solstice.  One was in the fall.  And he always had a big party at his house on Cinco di Mayo.  The fifth of May....every year.  Everyone came, with their spouses, partners....everyone brought something...potato salad, guacamole, chips, dip....

I eventually was able to retire while still going to Mr. Bill's.  It wasn't a "happy" retirement...it was awful, actually.  But, I had my home and I had my degree (yay) and I had a new adopted dog....and I still had Mr. Bill's.  

Soon afterwards my husband lost his job too....*2008 fallout....and we had to sell our house and move.  

It broke my heart.

We moved to central New Jersey...to a "retirement" community that I hated.  I loved that house, I hated the place.  There was a pool you could never get into because it was always so crowded.  There was a gym I went to where the had fucking Fox on the TV until someone must have complained and they finally set it for a music channel.  But I was never comfortable there. People were dying.  It was an awful place.

So we decided to move to Italy.  Radical, yes.  Practical....pretty much. The food is magnificent and the cost of living is cheap.  The climate is moderate....it was gorgeous until last year when it was hot, but it is better again this year.  No one escapes climate change.  And there is socialized medicine.  It has advantages and disadvantages.

I nearly died last year.  Twice.  First from pneumonia (brought about by a botched gall bladder operation) and the second time from the botched gall bladder operation.  I went to an ER and they decided after an entire day that I had "diverticulitis" which I have never had.  I went home and took the medication and it exacerbated the already existing problem.  My intestines perforated.

My dear neighbor brought me to the hospital in Chieti. I also owe my life to her. They did a scan with dye and saw the perforation and leak.  They told me I would have surgery...then.  I was put in a room, in a gown, hooked up to IVs and made comfortable.  I was, for a bit.  Then something went...poof.  And then I was screaming and taken to surgery and a male hand was gently holding an oxygen mask over-ish my face...and I thought I would die.

Mr. Bill had been jogging on May 5th.  He had been happily jogging along when he was hit by a car.  He was rushed to a hospital and he nearly died.  That's why he had a big party every Cinco di Mayo.  He lived.

So did I.  This my MY party and I'll cheer if I want to.  I lived, too.  On June 30th, 2022.  

I'm not feelin' too good myself.....

 Sooooooo, I saw a rheumatologist at my own expense.  He ordered blood tests and x-rays and since it was only 3 pm in the afternoon, I wondered why I could not have them right then and there.  He shrugged.  He is the top specialist at the hospital in the larger city nearby.  So....soooooo.

So I left with a letter that detailed the blood tests and x-rays he wanted.  I contacted my local doctor.  He said he was "in vacanza"....on vacation.  Swell.  Mi dispiace.  I had no idea.  I waited.  I waited until today. 

The weather was decent.  The incessant rains seem to have ended.  Now it is getting warm...some might say "hot." But, it was a nice day and I rested this morning and we set out at 5 pm for the local UTAP...which is the local health care facility.  Why?  Because it said my doctor would be there from 5 to 7 pm.

Since my nightmare year last year, this was the longest walk I have taken.  I used to do it every month all by myself.  I enjoyed it.  Then, after getting my prescriptions for the month, I would stop at the nearby cafe and have a cup of tea.  Sometimes I ran into people we knew.

This was torture.  This was painful and difficult. I had to hold on to my husband.  I had to sit down several times.  Damn!!!  But, we got there.  Thank god the elevator worked.  WHY, seriously WHY would they locate a "health center" up a double flight of stairs?  Just wondering......

It was hot.  No fans, although they had windows open and if you were in just the right spot there was a lovely breeze.  There was a small line and I placed myself at the end.  That part didn't take too long, maybe 10 minutes and I could lean on a wall. 

Finally, my turn.  I was happy that I was able to communicate in understandable Italian what I was there for.  I've been sequestered home for so long, I was worried.   She understood and took the letter from the Pescara doctor and started issuing orders.  Blood work.  (July 4th...haha) and x-rays...hands, knees and chest...July 25th!  What?  Are you in a hurry?   Oh, and don't forget to pick up your own urine vessel for the the analysis...the hospitals don't provide those.

I did also get some kind of prescription for something to use either on my knee or my hands...maybe both.  I have no idea, but I suppose I will find out.

Then, when I had all the orders and appointments, it was time to head back.  Ouch!  I have to sit again.  Give me a moment.

We got near Aldo's around the corner and I was ready to drop...right into a seat...thank goodness he was open.....I will have a whiskey and Coke, please.  Ice?  Oh, yes, sono Americana.  

The only good news is that none of these tests will cost a dime.  The bad news is that they take so damned long.  And then we have to get to the Questura during the summer for our resident cards....that will be fun while I feel so wonderful...and I don't know ...August is "Ferragosto" month...vacations!!!  Will I be able to see the rheumatologist?  Time will tell.

When the rain comes....

 Relentless.  It is relentless.  Not like when we were kids...and it rained for a day...maybe two.  No...now it rains for an entire week.  It rains for an entire season.  It rains and rains and rains.

And I know damned well it is burning elsewhere.  It is burning in Canada!!!  Canada???  It is heating up in Oregon and Washington state.  

I see the reports of hurricanes, tornadoes, cyclones....Auntie Em!!!!  I see them, of course.  How can you not?  How can you not?  Except many do....they ignore it...."just the normal rhythm."

  No it isn't.  That ...THAT is total nonsense.

I do not understand the apathy about this. But, then again, I don't understand why Al Gore wasn't President. Well, yes, I understand it...from a political and selfish point of view....but I don't UNDERSTAND IT from a human point of view.  I will never understand how perverted my country became, how perverted the entire species became. 

It is May in southern Italy...and I am still in sweatshirts...plural...and two layers of socks.  What scares me is that, if this year follows the same pattern as last year, the weather could change on a dime and suddenly turn hot.  With no respite. For weeks or perhaps months. Neither option is appealing.

I am a self hating human. 

I accept that. I hate it, but I accept it.

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain

 The first three springs and summers we were here were glorious.  Warm, sunny, with the occasional rainy day or night, as expected.  Sometimes I would have my first cup of tea in the morning out on the balcony, listening to the birds, watching the commuters come into the parking lot below and gazing out at the beautiful hills full of olive trees and fields that stretch all the way to the sliver of the Adriatic that is visible in the distance. We had open windows and happy cats watching birds outside. Idyllic.

The summer sun can be very strong, so sunscreen and hats were necessary, but the overall temperatures were pretty much in the 80s with low humidity, making even the hot days much more comfortable than any I can recall in the "states."  I have scads of pictures with clear, glorious blue skies.

I confess I don't remember last year too well, I was busy being ill and going in and out of hospitals, but I seem to recall it was not "ideal."  I do remember the temperature shooting up to 90 degrees early in June and staying there for three entire months, though. 

This year brought a mild winter with very little snow but lots and lots and LOTS of rain.  Did I mention lots of rain?  The freaking forecasts show rain nearly everyday with possible breaks that last one or two days at a time.  

There are construction workers in the parking lot.  It is being expanded for environmental reasons, so there will be better drainage.  That is, if it stops raining long enough for them to get any work done!  Right now there are former puddles that became little ponds that are now expanding into small lakes. 

We have had a total of ONE day where the temperature finally reached 70 degrees. The local schools posted an announcement that they are keeping the heat on past the time when it is usually turned off for the season.  The humidity has been sky high, 70% and more nearly every single miserable day.

Wait a  minute?  Isn't one of the reasons we moved here for the wonderful weather?  What the hell?

I shouldn't complain (except I have both kinds of arthritis and my joints are revolting against me). I know that there are situations in the US that are worse.  But we have two fears.  One is that this is a harbinger of what the entire summer will be, wet and unusually cool.  The other is that it will suddenly change, as it did last year, and we will be thrust into blistering heat and high humidity for the duration. Neither one sounds pleasant.  This is climate change. It is horrible and it is scary.

So, its almost May and I am still in two layers, sometimes three.  Double socks, a tee under my sweatshirt, sometimes another uber large sweatshirt over that.  I want to get out and walk but it is impossible in this, sometimes the rain is very, very hard and these streets are cobblestoned and hilly.  So I do some exercises inside, trying to get stronger and more flexible.  I need to see a rheumatologist 25 miles away, but I don't want to go in miserable weather nor do I want someone driving me in it.  Some of these small roads could be flooded.  

The forecast is for rain every day until the weekend.  A two day break, then more rain.  Hoping I don't go stark raving mad in the meantime.  

  

You belong to the city, concrete under your feet......

 We have 6 six cats.  They were all "rescued" from the street.  They were all neutered, because unneutered cats develop problems, male and female.  Behavioral problems, more proclivity to cancer, and, of course, more unwanted kittens.  

The fact that we neutered all these cats and got them off the street, the fact that we had managed to get TWO more spayed who insisted on continuing to live in the street, made a huge difference, at least in our small piazzetta, in the number of outdoor, unhoused cats. 

That is, until another black cat showed up and she got pregnant.  She had a litter about 6 or 7 months ago.  There were three or four kittens.  I don't know what happened to the others (probably best that I don't know) but one survived.  She appears, to me, to be a mottled calico....so I am assuming it is female and we call her "Callie."  

Well, the prissy people from Milan who are not particularly friendly and often have complaints about ridiculous things (for instance, there was a box of "decorative stones" underneath one of the benches that WE bought and this, for some reason, annoyed them.  It HAD to be removed.) Whatever. 

Anyway, they were here for the Christmas holiday and beyond, so we couldn't capture Callie because we knew they would have a conniption over that whole process.  So, we waited.  Then the weather didn't cooperate.  It's been a particularly rainy winter. 

In the meantime, Callie's mother had yet ANOTHER litter.  Unbelievable.  I will refrain from committing the string of expletives in my head to print. 

This time, because we had been feeding her and the kittens, all FOUR of them, looked more robust and healthy.  Frankly, they are adorable, but homeless.  

Well, once they were weaned, we were, luckily, able to trap the Mamma cat.  She is spayed.  Yea!

In our then effort to get Callie, we have managed to trap all the kittens instead.  It happened yesterday, on a Sunday, so....no vet was available.

In the US, cats are now routinely neutered at 4 or even 3 months of age.  Since they are four months now...it's time.  The vet was contacted and he agreed.  

However, they are all in one cage, so I'm not sure how he wants to handle this.

To complicate things, my husband "knew" that a woman who works in an office around the corner wanted a cat, so he told her we trapped them.  Joy, she'll take one.  HOWEVER, she doesn't want it neutered.  !!!!!!!!  I had a fit.  We trap them to CONTROL THE UNWANTED POPULATION, not to ADD to it.  So, she has idiotic, old fashioned, culturally antiquated ideas.  Fine.  The cat gets neutered.  PERIOD.  She takes him, she doesn't take him, I don't care.  He gets neutered!!!!

I don't know exactly where it all stands now, since it became unnecessarily complicated.  I do know the vet is coming to assess the situation. 

In Pescara, a seaside town much larger, there is a shelter and they educate people about neutering.  Here, there is nothing.  We are the fucking humane society, as it were.  I'm so stinking angry I could spit!

                                                     Callie standing with all the kittens.

Addendum: The gray kitten, the one "wanted" by the woman, is on his way to the vet.  He will pick them up one at a time.  And our neighbors have offered to help in whatever way they can.

Today, one of the black and white kittens went to the vet.  Both, so far, have been male.  Still have not been able to trap Callie.

****Update:  The all gray kitten has been adopted by an experienced owner.  He will be, thank goodness, a "house cat"

*****Update: We released to gray and white kittens.  They scrammed outside as fast as they could.  Little black cat lingered, so we took his cage inside and crossed our fingers that our own cats would not go nuts.  His new adoptive parents are coming tomorrow.  He, too, will be a house cat!  Yay!  And, after being here just a couple of days, I can say he is a maniac for playing with toys and loves to be pet.  His purr is the loudest!!!

A foggy day....

 When we first arrived and for the next four years, there was very little humidity.  It was wonderful.  The winters were crisp.  Although I hate the cold, the low humidity was very good for my joints, since I have both kinds of arthritis.  So I bundled up and put up with it.  And, after all, winter really didn't last all that long, not compared to where we lived in the US.

And the summers were glorious.  The heat was welcome and the low humidity just wonderful.  There might be a super hot, slightly humid day or two, but most were just warm and dry.

That all changed this past summer.  One day in June the temperature shot up to 90 degrees and got stuck there for three entire months.  To go along with the blistering heat, there was plenty of humidity.  I was miserable.  Well, I was also very sick this past summer and in and out of hospitals that had piddly air conditioning, but it WAS air conditioning.  We even bought a portable air conditioner for the house to help with the heat and the humidity.  By August, generally...usually the hottest month....I was already praying for summer to end. 

I was thrilled when the temperature finally broke and Fall set in.  Out came the socks, and long pants and eventually the sweatshirts.  Yay!!  Well, not yay.  Thanks to an invasion of a sovereign country and a drawn out war as a consequence, there is a heating oil shortage in Europe.  My husband takes this VERY seriously and refused to set the thermostat higher than 20 C. (68 Fahrenheit.)  Personally, I wanted the thermostat at 72 F.  NO!!  

Not only is the cold hard on my body, the house itself feels even more chilly because the floors are tile and the walls are thick plaster.  I doubled up on socks AND sweatshirts.  To make matters worse, the entire winter has been wet.  If it isn't raining, it's humid outside.  

Even on a bright sunny day, I look outside and think there is something wrong with my eyes.  Everything looks fuzzy and out of focus.  But it isn't my eyes, it's the fog.  Low lying clouds touching the ground.  Sixty degrees outside and......hazy.  There are towns on the horizon, there is the Adriatic Sea and they are not visible. 

This is climate change.  Natives here are telling us that this NEVER happens.  Well, I know it didn't happen for four years in a row, but the reality is, this is a first.  And it is miserable.  And now, while I am bemoaning the winter I once looked forward to, I am worried that Spring and Summer might be miserable again. 

It is increasingly difficult to maintain a positive attitude. 

I'm all ears......

Orrechietti.  "Little ears."

I first saw them in NYC when I was still working at the hospital.  There was a "luncheon" of some sort and we secretaries were invited....there was also a massage therapist.  I remember that because I was determined not to let that opportunity go by.  I had my massage.....about a year before I had major surgery on my cervical spine (neck).

Anyway...they had a buffet.  Little sandwiches.  Cold cuts.  Cheese.  And salads.  And one of the salads happened to be orrechietti, but no one knew what it was, so they were cute little pastas.

It tasted like any other macaroni salad anyone ever had. Period.

Fast forward to Italy some years later.  There is no orrecchiette in the supermarket.  I don't know where it is.  I cannot find it.  Meh......

Well....it seems that is because orrecchiette in Italy is fresh.  Handmade.  Not manufactured by a company just producing different shapes of the same old same old.  No!  It is .....artisanal.

And....it is at our salumeria.  So...we got some. 

It was awesome.  At total and completely not at all like regular what you would think you were buying pasta in the US.  It is....sublime.

It has....texture.  It's HEAVY!!!  A little goes a long way.  We had a bag....we got four meals for two out of it.  

First time I used broccoli and chick peas ( ceci) with parmesan and oil.  Second time I shredded some chicken sausage, added my spaghetti sauce and the pasta.  Parmesan on top.  Both were two meals, both were filling and stupendous.

I have discovered a secret.  I'm sharing......but I'm so sorry those who aren't here can't share the texture and taste of real, hand made orrecchiette.  They are....stupendous.

I plan to use them in summer salads....to be used sparingly, of course.

Operator...can you help me make this call?

 After several years living here and bopping around from place to place, I finally found a hairdresser I really like and I am comfortable with.  She doesn't, by the way, speak a word of English.   Anyway....

Since I was hospitalized and operated on and so on and so on....my hair started falling out....then finally stopped falling out and now, at long last, is growing back in again....slowly.  Everything is getting better, but at a snail's pace.  I guess that's because I'm not so young anymore.  But it is growing back and I am getting better.  Yay.

Sooooo, it was time to call the hairdresser.  I hate going out in the cold.  I hate going out in the rain.  And this winter has had a lot of both.  So I watched to forecasts closely and it looked like this week would be a decent opportunity to get out and get my friggin' hair cut!!

I called.  After a couple of rings..."Pronto!"...the Italian version of "hello" which actually means "ready."  I said I needed an appointment.  I could hear a hair dryer, rather loudly, in the background.  She answered me and I couldn't understand what she said...then..."Pronto!  Pronto!"...aggh...I tried again, she said something....more hair dryer and "Pronto!"  Then she hung up.  What a disaster!

I gave up.  I felt stupid.  Incompetent.  I'm not Italian.  I don't speak fluently.  I tried.  I failed.

Then it was the weekend.  I sort of decided I would walk there (it's just around the corner) and make the appointment in person.  However, the weather didn't cooperate.  It was bloody cold today, even though the sun was shining.

So I mustered up my courage and tried calling again.  I called in the early afternoon, when I know it is usually more quiet since that is "pranzo" time...lunch time, in Italy.  She answered right away and thank goodness, the line was clear...no background noise.  I said "Buon pomeriggio"....good afternoon....and asked if there was an appointment this week.  "Si!  Domani o giovidi??"  I said I preferred afternoon.  I was given an appointment on Thursday in the early afternoon.  Hallelujah.  

The moral of the story is....I am not stupid, I can speak Italian fairly well, and she just could not hear me the first time.  I beat myself up for no reason.  And I will look human again on Thursday.  Hurray!

Deja vu

 It seems we are back in the business of acting as the town spay and neuter clinic.  

Sometime early last year another black cat showed up and ingratiated herself with the local gang.  I was in the midst of health and hospital issues, so I don't remember precisely when that was.  But late in the spring or in the early summer this cat, named unoriginally "Black Mamma" had a litter of three.

Only one of those kittens survived, and I think it is a female as it appears to be one of those mottled calico types.  I call her "Callie."  

Yes, not very imaginative, but when you have had a plethora of stray or feral cats, many of them looking quite similar, you tend to find a way to differentiate.  Ink is short for "Incubo" which means "nightmare" in Italian.  She was hell to trap and we had to release her even though I had hoped to keep her inside.  Black Mamma, obviously, became a mother and her body shows the wear and tear.  "Fat Tail" has....a fat tail!! Three black cats, 2 female, one male.  Now both females will be spayed.

The vet arrived today and took Mamma.  He will spay her and bring her back, still knocked out, so we can transfer her to a recuperative cage with a pan, food and water. 

As soon as we can we will have to trap Callie.  She is old enough now and this piazzetta doesn't need any more kittens.  Her mother, Mamma, had a second litter recently.  There are FOUR of them, although it is unlikely all will survive as it is winter.  It is horribly sad, but there is nothing we can do about there.  There is no "service" in these small hill towns, no organizations, nothing.  

And I certainly don't want whoever the sicko is who occasionally sprinkles freaking poison around because of the burgeoning cat population to do it again!

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

On a lighter note, I had a short but wonderful reunion with three dear friends from school....junior high and high school.  Short because of different time zones.

We were able to "Zoom" together in spite of being in radically different places.  

We filled each other in on some current stuff and also clarified some old stuff as it seems our memories all have some blank spots.  Luckily, the blanks are in different spots!

My father left, my parents divorced when I was twelve.  My older sisters were out on their own already.  I was left alone, bewildered, hurt and angry.  These girls, my friends, were my lifeline in those days.  I am deeply grateful to them.  

Yes, I choked up a bit when I had to "hang up."  Seeing them all, hearing their voices, remembering how important they each were and are to me.  💕