It's too hot....too hot, baby...

 How is everyone?  Are you able to cope with the present heat wave?  

I've said before, the first three years we were here, the weather was glorious.  Yes, it got hot in the summer, of course.  There were, perhaps, three or four days throughout the entire summer where the temperature went about 90 degrees.  And, the humidity was low.  So....it was hot, but not awful, not unbearable.

Needless to say, that has changed.  I was hoping we might be in a little pocket that got through this mess without terrible consequences, but that was just wishful thinking.  

We are now stuck in a "heat dome" and the wind is coming from Africa.  Hot wind.  And we are in a drought situation, so the water is turned off every night at 10 pm and returns at 6 am.  Before 10pm the pressure diminishes.  A reminder?  Or is that just the way it has to be?  

Since our building is very old, we cannot have an air conditioner installed.  There is nowhere to put it where it can work properly.  We have a portable air conditioner in the kitchen (again, the only place it can be) which is okay because it sends cool air down the main hallway to the bedroom and living room.  

We have fans everywhere else.  And we just put up a cabana curtain outside the kitchen, which is the double glass door to the balcony.  No view, but the sun is blocked.  The SUN!!!!  Yes, of course!  The idiots last year who tore down all the trees and greenery outside our bedroom window....the idiots who exposed the whole side of our place and the balcony to total sun!  Whoever those stupid bastards were, they made the place MUCH hotter.  They made the balcony sunnier which is actually scorching some of the plants and also makes it impossible for us to be out there at the height of the day.  And that is not to mention how we lost the birds.  We had chickadees and several varieties of finches and sparrows, and the pigeons and crows.  Now there are only pigeons and crows.  I don't care for the pigeons.  I like the crows.

Crows are smart and they take care of each other.  They have community.  On these hot mornings, fresh water is put out in the bath while they watch from a tree down on the passeggiata.  Then, one by one, they come for a drink.  Not one of them bathes or splashes around.  No water waste.  Each one drinks and leaves and another one swoops in.  They have a system.  

Funny, when I was a kid and even well into adulthood, summer was my favorite season.  Now I dread it.  It seems to be morphing into a nightmare everywhere.  

The poor cats are limp.  They just sleep after their breakfast....no playing in the tubes, no "mousey" for Scruff.  

Dinner is pasta or potato salad with something on a roll, be it tuna or turkey, cheese or maybe egg salad.....uninspired but cool and easy.  

There might be some rain heading here in a day or two.  Hopefully.  Maybe.  Meanwhile, this misery drags on.  Glad there are things to watch on the computer and books to read.  But it is difficult to pull out of the lethargy these temperatures induce.  

Back in high school we used to have "field day" every year.  A whole day outside taking part in various activities.  I fainted.  I can't remember what it was I was doing at the time, I just remember being in the nurse's office, on a cot with a cold compress on my head.  I had to wait for my mother to drive me home.  I imagine "field days" now must be downright dangerous and it's horrible to read about moronic parents leaving kids in hot cars, or football playing kids passing out during practices.  

I hope people are learning to adjust to the present situation.  I, myself, have little confidence...none, really, that anything is going to get better.  **sigh**  But we soldier on.  What choice is there?

The second time around....

When I lived in New Jersey, I eventually found "Mr. Bill's."  Not the hapless little claymation Mr. Bill from Saturday Night Live, but a real, live Mr. Bill.  He owned a gym.  Since Maywood was one of those few still walkable towns...an actual "town" although it was really only one main street, I passed Mr. Bill's often.

We had a hardware store that smelled like a hardware store, with plungers and keys, paint and toilet seats, nails, screws, the works.  At Christmas they filled their front and side windows with a spectacular display including, of course, trains, stores, homes, ice skaters, hills, trees and lots of twinkling lights.

There was a small supermarket whose deli section included lots of already cooked meals, like chicken piccata or cordon bleu, stew beef in gravy, green beans, potatoes, pasta salads...everything for the harried commuter who needed a decent dinner.

On top of that, there was a fantastic pizza place, the best Chinese food I believe I have ever had (next to one place in Manhattan that I adored) and another "fusion" storefront that sold Chinese and Mexican food.  Their quesadillas were wonderful!  But if you didn't feel like take-out, there were two (TWO!) actual restaurants that weren't blaring with multiple TVs, both of which had a quieter seating area and a less formal bar area.  Both had great food and nice people.  

It wasn't until I had to cut back my working hours because of rheumatoid arthritis that I slowed down enough to actually notice Mr. Bill's.  Eventually, I worked up the courage to go inside.  This, however, was only because I noticed quite a few "older" people inside.  You know, ones with GRAY hair, and saggy buttocks and stringy arms.  And a dog.  Mr. Bill took his dog to work.  Ok, ok, I can do this.

And I did.  I was a member for three years, following this "program," and meeting people, feeling better, "expanding my horizons."  I went on the occasional hike, which included stops along the way at member's homes for rest and refreshment.  Mr. Bill also gave an annual party at his house.  He celebrated "Cinco di Mayo" and we all chipped in bringing dishes while he provided the beer.  

However, I learned that Mr. Bill was not actually celebrating "Cinco di Mayo" because it was a great holiday or he had Latino roots (He was about as Irish as one can be) but that this was his "second birthday."  He had been out jogging one morning (happened to be the fifth of May) when he was struck by a car.  The car kept going and as he laid there on the side of the road.  

Somehow he wound up in a hospital....alive.  Ergo, his "second birthday" that he celebrated every year.

My actual birthday was just a couple of weeks ago, but today, June 30th, is my second birthday.  After having a botched surgery, followed by pneumonia, followed by lethargy, inability to eat, walk...anything....I was taken to the hospital on June 30th...a large, teaching hospital with state of the art equipment, and my life was saved with a major open surgery and repair of a bile leak and intestinal perforation.  I had lost 50 pounds in those few months. My hair was falling out.  Weak and tired hardly covers it.  But I lived.

  I won't be having a party, only home made chicken tarragon salad and pasta salad with peas and eggs. But there will be a large bottle of prosecco and gratitude to my friend and neighbor who drove me to the hospital and, of course, the doctors who saved my life.  I may never be quite the same again, but I am eating and cooking, walking, getting outside, feeding the cats, folding laundry, reading and exercising as per the instructions of the lady who treats me with shiatsu.  Yes, shiatsu.  More on that later, it's time now for prosecco!!

See you in September....

 I went to get my hair cut today.  I know that everything will be basically closed for the entire month of August....so, in anticipation, I had my hair cut a bit ahead of time so I could make it until September, 

It was funny because it was the first time my hairdresser called me by name....Yuni...or Yoony....or Uni.......as in Juni....since my name is not one that is "normal" in everyday society in Italy.  I thought it was cute....wrong, but cute...I mean, I can live with that. I know they don't understand.  

This was the first time she ever called me by name.  She was busy this evening...and her phone never stopped.  I thought I would be the first appointment of the afternoon, but there were already two people ahead of me.  What is it?  Graduations?  Weddings?  Both?

So, she was a bit rushed, but perfect as always.  She might be THE best hair cutter I have ever encountered.  I called her an "artista"...and one of the other women there agreed.  

Also, this time, as I left, she didn't follow me to her "check out stand" but stayed back with the other ladies.  So I left my money on her counter and as I left I said "Buonasera!  Grazie!" and pointed to the counter.  I was...sort of ...and sort of not ....comfortable with that.    

My husband noticed that my hair was shorter than usual and I told him why.   Why not shorter?  Why not?  Why not?  Well......that's because.....that's because some years ago someone noticed ....who was it?  For the life of me I can't remember....someone said I looked like my mother.  I nearly died. 

All my life I was told I looked like my father....my father who left us.  My father who turned his back...on me.  (My sisters were older and were adults when he left...I was twelve.)   But, what did I do?  I blamed my mother.  Because.....she was silent...she never spoke...never raised her voice...never said a word about it.  I blamed my mother although she was still there.  I blamed her because she DIDN'T EVER TELL ME ANYTHING!  

So.....to have someone say I looked like her was jarring, to say the least.  And, as I got older, I saw it.  I could see it myself.  But most especially with my hair short, as my mother's always was. 

Quite frankly, I could not bear it to see or be reminded of her each day in the mirror...it would drive me crazy.  I was the unwanted child.  I was the accident.  I should never have happened. 

I am sorry that I feel this way, and I have no way of ever extricating myself from it.  Just as I have no way of ever forgiving my miserable, selfish father.  Both of them failed me as a child.  I was the leftover.  Pffft.

Well, I'm still here.  And I love my hair, which is shiny, healthy and silver.  But it is MY hair, not anyone else's...and I wear it as I wear it for my comfort.

Strange, isn't it?  How these miserable ghosts can continue to haunt us for entire lifetimes?

Welcome to...my little corner of the world

 Five and half years ago we retired to Italy.  Why?  Well...for the adventure, for sure, but also because of clean air, clean water and unprocessed foods.  And, for me (and even more important) guns...or the lack thereof. 

The last time we went to a movie theater, in New Jersey, was one Christmas and we were with my daughter.  It was a "Star Wars" film.  I never cared too much for "Star Wars" (I was a "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" type of person) but it was the holidays and so-called blockbusters were all they offered.  The film, in my opinion, sucked.  What didn't help at all was that from the moment we arrived until we got home, I was a quiet wreck.  I didn't let on, I said nothing, but I was terrified.  Popcorn, big Coke and fancy, plush recliner seats and all, I was very nervous.  The only thing I could think about was if we had any chance of escape if someone should decide this was the place and time to use an assault weapon.

So, anyway, here we are, in the middle of Nowhere, Italy.  My daughter has visited several times.  The first time it was all about this town, which, at that point, was considerably livelier than it is now. (Covid took a toll here and we lost several restaurants and I don't know how many people).  Subsequent visits found her here for a bit and then in Rome and then up to Germany to see people she knew.  It's a VERY quiet little town.

So, imagine my surprise to have someone come here...just to see us!!  And even more surprising...she is a Facebook friend whom I have never met face to face.

They are on a whirlwind and globe spanning trip of a lifetime as circumstances occurred for them to just say....let's do it!!

That's us having some prosecco (I'm on the left).  We "met" online when Bernie Sanders ran for President the first time, so it's been quite a while.   The weather has not been cooperating, though, and it was a bit rainy and chilly, as it has been for several weeks.  Climate change is making itself known even here.  

It was amazing to sit down with someone and talk easily while still realizing that we had never, ever met in person before.  She is the ONLY virtual friend I have that I have ever met in person, so I felt very honored, especially since this is not the most popular place to visit, for sure.  There are a lot of British people, although more and more Americans seem to be trickling in.  Most people tend to flock to Pescara, the local beach resort, filled with hotels, bar and restaurants and...beach. 

We had lasagne and meatballs and then walked down to Con Amore for gelato.  "We haven't had gelato yet."  WHAT????  We all had a cup.  Mine was fondente (dark chocolate) and hazelnut.  Her husband, seeing the fondente, went back for seconds!!  I guess he liked it *snorfle. 

I know my New York-ness came out several times, but no one seemed to mind too much,

This is my thank you to her for going through the trouble of finding this tiny hamlet and giving me the opportunity to meet a kindred spirit.  Grazie mille!!!  Kind of amazing, in a good way for once, what technology can do.                                          

 

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.