Why should we be fated to do...nothing but brood..on food?

Having been brought up in the US in the 50s and 60s, bland food, convenience foods, frozen foods were the thing to do.  I recall lots of "roast beast" and endless mashed potatoes, mushy vegetables.

I started cooking in my teens, trying things that seemed difficult like puff pastry, 5 layer tortes, baked beans from scratch.  Overall, my favorite "cuisine" turned out to be Italian.

So, here we are in Italy!!  And people seem to think that we live on spaghetti  and pizza now.  They envision the menu of an Italian restaurant and think that is regular life here, but real Italians have a much more varied diet.

Yes, the pasta, even from the supermarket, is terrific. Better still is to buy fresh pasta from the homemade pasta shops.  "Passata" is tomato sauce, sold in jars.  Unlike the US, passata comes in smooth variations to chunky (rustica) but not in flavors such as marinara, basil and peppers or arrabbiata.  Therefore, once we landed in Italy I started making my own sauce with my preferred rustica passata.  But even in Italy, people do not live on pasta and sauce alone!

Since this is a small, somewhat remote hill town (and also thanks to the pandemic) our choices for eating out are limited mostly to pizza, pizza and more pizza.  Not healthy in the long run and ultimately boring. Still, an occasional pizza night is fun and a break from cooking all the time.  Our other choice here is a restaurant fashioned after an American diner that offers burgers, wings and fries.  

We live in an area surrounded by farms, green houses, olive groves and vineyards.  As a result there is a plethora of fresh local vegetables year round.  Sure, you can buy frozen spinach, broccoli, peas, green beans.  But the fresh produce is at least half the price of US produce and so much better.  (I do buy frozen spinach in cubes, it is easy and neat, unlike loose frozen spinach in the US).

There were some surprises along the way.  Carrots are very popular here along with hot peppers (pepperoncini). Spinach is a big favorite and also asparagus and artichokes.  You can make it yourself, but "spinacini" are available in the deli section of the supermarket or frozen.  They are lightly breaded patties of ground chicken and spinach, sauteed on the stove top.  Also popular are plain chicken patties and spiedini, which are kebobs, of chicken (or other meat) onions, peppers.  

Fish sticks, just like in the states, but better (Italy does not allow Monsanto, artificial colors, preservatives, etc) along with fish cakes are readily available in the frozen section, too.

Soups (minestrone and pasta e fagioli) are popular in the winter months and bags of frozen vegetable or bean mixes are stocked in the market when the weather gets cold. Making the soup is up to you!!  It isn't hard with broth in large cartons, passata, spices and the vegetable mixes.  I add extra chick peas because I love them. 

What do we eat when it isn't pizza or spaghetti with tomato sauce?  

Turning things into "Mexican" dishes is easy.  There is a plethora of hot peppers and Tabasco sauce is sold. Rice and rice mixes are also abundant.  Beans are everywhere.  A piadina is not exactly a tortilla, but it is similar although slightly heavier and not as flexible.  Making a quesadilla is a cinch.  Burritos or fajitas are simple, too.  When in season, the avocadoes are large and make great guacamole.  Tortilla chips are around and taco sauce is sold in the stores.  Red beans and rice?  Yep!

After a lifetime of thinking Chinese food was complicated, I started making my own fried rice and lo mein.  My next conquest will be eggs foo young.

In the warmer months (should I say hot?) we stick to salads - a bed of lettuce with tuna salad or egg salad on top.  Macaroni salad with eggs and peas.  Potato salad.  I even found Hellmann's mayonnaise here.  Turkey burgers in a piadina with cheese and lettuce, or spinacini or chicken patties, also stuffed in a piadina (lighter than a bun).  Also sliced roasted turkey from the deli counter in a wrap is a hot weather dinner.

Spaghetti piccante is a popular dish for the summers here. That is spaghetti without sauce, just olive oil and a mixture of hot spices which can be found in premade packets.  It can be addictive.

"Il hot dog" is another surprise. I am not a fan of them, but we have them now and then, turkey dogs.  At least in this hill town, hot dogs are everywhere, including sliced on top of pizza or served in a small round of pizza dough in lieu of a hot dog bun. 

In the winter we have quiches, a chicken tarragon "stew" that cooks in the oven with potatoes, carrots and onion, tuna or chicken casserole with a choice of peas, broccoli or asparagus, stuffed peppers, shepherd's pie (Yes, there are wonderful instant mashed potatoes!) roasted onions and carrots with a chicken or spinacini patty.  

An easy skillet dinner is fusilli pasta with chicken chunks, a cream soup mix (asparagus or artichoke) topped with parmesan and walnuts.  

And then, of course, spaghetti...or any type of pasta and sauce, or baked in a casserole with melted mozzarella and/or ricotta and lasagna, chicken parmigiana, gnocchi, tortellini in brodo or with sauce.  

 Potable water, clean air, abundant vegetables, ingredients that you recognize and can pronounce in prepared foods - there are healthy choices and plenty of variety.  Yes, it takes more time to make things yourself, but people do eat very well here.  

I only wish that there were a bit more choice in restaurants, but I won't complain too much.  Overall, things are better here than where we were.   

As we stroll along together.....

 I am getting older.  My body has gone through multiple changes throughout my life.....as we all do...from childhood to adolescence (Oh! The horror!) and for me, as a female, pregnancy (Oh! The horror!..yes, it was...because I puked for four entire months and lost 10 pounds)  and then, finally, menopause....what joy!

So, here I am. Old.  Old by probably every standard....I got notices from AARP twenty years ago!!!  I started taking "senior" vitamins.  When was my last period?  Oh....shit.  How the hell do I know??

There are people wondering why I don't color my hair.  Why?  Is that any of their business?  Do I ask THEM why they continue to color theirs?  Why?  Who are they kidding?   Why does it matter?

I have Frankenfeet....feet that have been ravaged by rheumatoid arthritis, a broken bone and bunions.  Feet that have endured multiple surgeries just so I could remain vertical.  Feet that I sought shoes for, for years, often opting for a larger and larger size just because  I thought that I might be able to walk more comfortably...as a woman....hahaaha...like anyone EVER cared about women being comfortable walking....in shoes.  Or not.

My two Frankenfeet....one done by a top notch surgeon in the NUMBER ONE hospital in New York City.  He was an excellent surgeon, and that foot looks more normal than the other.  The toes are even and sometimes I can even move them at will, finally, after all these years.  I can bend them and even spread them a bit....before I could not feel them or send them "messages" from my brain at all.  That is my more "normal" foot.  It is back to my "normal" size 7.  38 in Europe.  BUT.....but......but....as good as it looks...despite scars....it swells up in shoes. Always.  Doesn't matter what shoe, makes no difference..the damned thing swells and after a not too very long while it becomes noticeable to the eye and uncomfortable,  IDK how many of you have ever had your ankles swell for whatever reason, but that is what it is like.  Always.  In shoes.  So....I avoid shoes whenever and wherever possible.  And people want me to go out.....and have...FUN!

The other...my left foot....yeah....my left foot....is now deformed forever.  It's a shame because the surgeon swore he trained under the surgeon who did my first foot!  So, silly me, I thought he would come through.  And, he seemed like a really nice guy...nice enough that I would have worked for him and even tried to get a job so I wouldn't have my killer commute anymore.  But,.....my left foot looks like a horror.  There is a huge gap between my great toe and the second one and then the other little piggies are all stuffed up at the end in their little piggie corrals, like actual pigs in a pig farm.  It's a mess.

The upshot of all of this is that, for the most part, these surgeries that were supposed to restore my abilities, have left me with toes I cannot feel or move, except a very little bit on the right.  I have balance problems.  My right foot swells in shoes...any shoe.  Makes no matter, even a slipper.

My left foot does NOT swell, but it looks, for all intents and purposes, at a quick glance, like I am missing a toe...the others are squished at the end and I must be meticulous about foot hygiene after every shower.  AND, most of all, for this child who was "swimming" at two months of age, I can no longer swim at all.  My feet are useless.  Feet are necessary for swimming and mine are useless.  So, something I have loved all my life is no longer possible.  Sure, it's a result of disease, but how much is also the result of poor surgery?  

I lost twenty pounds in the first year in Italy, because this is a "walking town" and we walked and walked.  Then came a pandemic and quarantine.  I am attempting to get back to walking...just a little one "around the block" it would be called in the US except here the block includes hills, so that makes it all the better.   

I ran into a neighbor on my walk today..I think she is a bit older than I am.  "Oh, una pasaggiatta?" (A walk?  Perche?)  A walk, why?  Because I am fat.  "No!  No!  You are normal!"  And then the funny part..and "you are tall!"  Tall?  I'm 5'3"...hahaha!!!  I guess to her I am "tall."  

I will do what I can to remain in some semblance of "healthy"..while the environment collapses....I do it for my child and my cats.....So far, life goes on.

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?

Two different worlds, we live in two different worlds

Our lives in New York/New Jersey were hectic, exhausting and stressful.  My commute started between 5 and 5:30 in the morning with a ten minute walk to the bus stop, the express bus to the Port Authority, two subway trains and ended with another walk, about 20 to  30 minutes, to the entrance of the hospital. 

My last years of working prior to retirement were the most difficult of all.  I was struggling to control rheumatoid arthritis and loathing the daily commute that ate up four hours or more of every day.  I rarely got to see daylight in my own home.

Saturdays were nearly as bad since our county had "blue laws" that did not allow many businesses to be open on Sunday (an effort to control excess traffic).  Nice idea, but that meant that shopping for necessities had to be done on Saturday.  Planning for the week/month was essential.

Many times over my working life, I traded time for money.  I wanted the time more....time to keep my place as nice as I would like.  Time to spend with my beloved companions.  Time to cook or listen to music.  There was only one glaring exception...while I worked weekend nights at the hospital.  Every so often a holiday...Christmas, New Years, Fourth of July...would fall on a weekend.  And the hospital paid double time and half.  I loved it.  One, it paid well and it was  actually fun.  Two, the doctors and nurses often got into the "spirit" and wore antlers or Santa hats, New Year glasses or red, white and blue regalia.  It boosted everyone's mood.  And, the added bonus was that it got me off the hook for once.  I didn't have to make dinner for 6, 7 or 8 and THEN go to work the next day.  For me, that was a holiday.  

Something I learned sometime while living in Ann Arbor was that the adage, "work hard and get ahead" is a fallacy and cannot be applied universally.  Sometimes you work hard and don't get anywhere.  Sometimes you work harder and just manage to cling to the status quo. Sometimes you work hard and get royally screwed. Retirement has been a luxury for which I am deeply grateful. 

Even afterwards, though, I worked for a while online writing articles for a medical website.  And, there was so much to do.  We sold the house and moved to central New Jersey, which entailed emptying scads and scads of stuff piled high in the basement, more stuff in what closet space there was, and yet more stuff in the attic.  And everyone knows what a joy it is to move. Then came painting and improvements. Then planning for the BIG move overseas.  And another spinal surgery.

Finalmente!  I was hoping life would calm down here in Italy.  The European approach would be good for us.  Take time to smell the roses, as it were.  Relax.  Breathe. 

Naturally, it took months to settle in especially with a whole new language to learn and a notorious bureaucracy to deal with.  Instead of relaxing and breathing, my husband seemed more anxious than ever, always worried, always hyper, perseverating about the next perceived crisis. 

I, too, had trouble sleeping, calming down.  Sometimes I would pace up and down the hallway to the back door to the balcony and look out at the night until I felt ready to possibly sleep. 

It has been over two and a half years now.  Ironically, the pandemic assisted me, at least, in letting go of the next worry.  Life became planning two weeks worth of groceries and meals and then collecting cats, which at first was not relaxing in any way, shape or form.  

Whenever faced with any sort of problem or dilemma, my approach is to find a way to deal with it.  My husband....not so much.  He worries, he frets, he envisions worst case scenarios.  Like anywhere else, glitches happen here in "idyllic" Italy, too.  

We had our permits to stay delayed due to Covid.  It all worked out ("We could be deported!").  Taxes had to be done ("This is a nightmare!").  We found an excellent guy, the taxes are done.  We can't access the website for vaccines ("We may NEVER get there!")...it got straightened out and it was done.  

He just cannot seem to accept the fact that here, things move a little slower.  It is one of the things I adore about it.  Expecting someone to show up at 8am?  Give them until 10am at least.  A restaurant has hours posted that say they open at 6:30pm?  Keep in mind, that means you can walk in the door.  Expect to have a drink and wait a while until they are set up and ready.  They are not slaves to the clock here as in the U.S. That delivery you thought was coming today?  Ah, domani.  There's always domani.  

It is hard to believe that retirement began eight years ago.  Only now, eight years out and nearly three years into Italy, and my mind is more at ease.  Carefree?  Of course not...show me where that is, I want to sign up! But I am learning to just allow the things that happen ...to happen.  Without a slight panic attack, without hysterics or curses or a racing pulse.  

I ditched my watch.  Makeup, if any, is minimal.  I have a drawer full of accessories/jewelry I never wear anymore. I'm reading a lot more again.  Clothes are for comfort, I don't care what other people think, they are usually wrong anyway.  The fridge always has at least two bottles of prosecco chilling.  Kittens make me happy.  Staring at blue sky does wonders for the psyche.  

If you walk outside our front door now, the sweet smell of jasmine fills the air.  Sometimes (it has been a strange and chilly spring) I have my morning tea on the balcony.....sometimes a glass of wine in the evening.  The rondole circle above (swallows).  Finches and crows and jays have their conversations....someone is a songster...a tiny bird...maybe a type of finch.  We have our own jasmina growing up a trellis out there. 

A different world.  Much like the one I recall from distant childhood....where things happen and things are dealt with, where everything isn't decided by a clock, where people have their quirks and that's okay....and the weather isn't perfect but there is music....and sky.....and kittens.  "Where everybody knows your name." The scenery, however, is spectacular