Got out & got back...
You and I were reunited. Finally last Friday. I got a hug. You got one back simultaneously and a big smack on the lips too. He had steered me to an out-of-the-way corner in the parking lot of the restaurant where we had met for these sorts of shenanigans and a meal. You had come down from Genoa after a very necessary barber’s appointment to trim his unruly coiffure and me, having no such need, arrived fresh & unshaven from Codiponte. No Social Distancing for us. And what bravery too. Intimacy with a COVID-19 dottore. Now I read on the BBC about the global health authorities worrying that many folk may carry the virus yet, show no symptoms whatsoever. God help us! My own personal Coronavirus doctor says Social Distancing is The Most Important Measure. There are exceptions apparently, ie the above special encounter. Next is washing hands with soap & water. Masks and gloves are a courtesy, shows responsibility, thinking of others and not just yourself. Of lesser importance.
Feeling frisky… could’ve been the hugs… after a pleasant though short weekend with You, I hit the road yesterday in my scuzzy SUV and drove to Pisa to the IKEA there. Quest for duvet covers and baskets. A glorious day to do so. But first…
a stop at My Preferred Bar for an out-of-Lockdown cappuccino. Having un caffe’ before doing something on your Task List is A Tradition in Italy. And, if possible, a church afterwards to light a candle. Got to cover all critical elements of Life here. I elected not to do the candle thing. The nearest church to My Preferred Bar is a hike to reach and I was on a schedule. The cappuccio was delicious. Since Liberation Day on the 3rd of June, the bar must have submitted before to a good scrub and a clearing-out to within a millimetre of its post-Lockdown Life. No La Nazione newspaper for the Barbanera horroscope. A pity. How can one do anything without celestial input? Virgo is in agitation too. Discovered an enormous but, soundly constructed plexiglass barrier sul banco del bar, and with a small opening to pass your cappuccino to you. Nothing gerry-rigged like at the creepy bank branch I am now obligated to frequent. The consequence of a pre-COVID-19 restructuring. Ample containers of hand gel at the entrance. And, an outdoor piazza with plastic green grass carpets, tables & chairs AND umbrellas to promote the all-important dictates of Social Distancing. Ate up a few parking spaces. Just as well since it contains…. key word… the confusion with how Italians swing a car to STOP for a run into a bar. Spacial sense is not a forte of Italians. Just look at their gardens. Anyway, all good for the bar owner. An amiable chap and was rather glad to see me hobble in. He asked me about my hips. Had something happened during my 3 + 1/2 month absence? I replied it wasn’t really the hips but, too much heavy yard work. He smiled. I paid and resumed my jaunt.
Shook off the lingering sense of Lockdown on the drive South. Wind blowing through the open driver’s window on my bald head, little traffic and very few trucks, the SUV humming along as I watched the autostrada and occasionally admired the stunning sky-scapes above the Apuane Mtns. & Apennines. Rarely do I see such monumental cloud constructions and of every type on the chart. High above was this extraordinary azure sky. A crystalline clear blue. One reminding me Italy is on the same latitude as Toronto, Canada… more or less, a Northern sky.
I went to McDonald’s. It’s in IKEA’s neighbourhood. Sorrowful one too. Huge boxes for buildings with vast parking lots next door to wildernesses of tall weeds and partially completed construction sites. More huge boxes to come. Scenes from post-WWII movies of Neorealismo Italiano. IKEA is the most visible. However, the Double Golden Arches beckoned me to come hither for a double cheeseburger… the pickle slapped on cheese and a beef patty, we think, is a capping glory of fast-food architecture… a large French Fries and a Coke Zero. Yellow tape on the pavement showed me where I could stand outside in line to enter for proper Social Distancing, hand-gel and groovy Italian Blu plastic gloves were provided. Few folk inside. There, mostly to place their orders for delivery to their tables outside. Is this an Italian invention? Service to your table at a Mac’s? Seems un-fast-food-ish…
back when il Poggiolo was under construction and when the builder had finished the complex of new roofs, he asked if I was intending to host a meal to celebrate. Had never heard of that but, thought it a great idea. My English Friend in Codiponte confirmed the local Topping-off the New Roof Party custom. I whipped up lots of stuff to eat… from torte salate to una pasta calda to un dolce. On the appointed day, the builder, his crew of 6 and a few privileged guests showed up around 5 in the afternoon on a pleasant early October day to partake della festa. I made a little speech of thanks and then, invited the assembled to serve themselves. No one moved. I re-issued the invitation to please go to the buffet table on the Loggia and help yourself. Still no one moved. My English Friend quietly stepped over and whispered to me… Gli italiani non si servono da mangiare ad una festa. Dovresti farlo tu! So, I climbed up to the Loggia and started piling food onto plates and handing them out. Suddenly, I had 15 people clamouring to be the first. McDonald’s has had to do the same, I suppose.
Done with eating, I drove over to IKEA, parked in the D for Dog lot of cars and walked over to the Entrance. A masked & gloved employee in a dark Blue combat style uniform came up to me holding what looked like a gun. We exchanged Buon Giorno’s… mine was forceful yet, with a tinge of reticence… while the young man pointed what looked like a gun at my forehead, a bright red light lit up like a laser tag, and where a bullet might have shot out. All I got for the sudden fright was a… Okay, si puo entrare… or, You’re good to go. Grazie. Off I trotted to the separate Linen and Basket Departments. What a mess. People everywhere, scurrying about with their carts or, yellow carrier-bags or, not, and blocking aisles where I needed to go. Social Distancing was a Bump & Grind. Dottore You would have been appalled. I was. Then what? Could not find what I had in mind from the last visit to IKEA four months ago. Stock was upside down, topsy-turvy, out of regimental order or, non-existent. The store must’ve liquidated their personnel during Lockdown. No one was about. Certainly, there wasn’t anyone visible to put the place back into some semblance of order. THERE ARE RULES FOR DISPLAY!!! I used to work in retail. I know. I debated various possible candidates for both single & double duvet covers. Cancelled most for being too expensive. Euro 80 for a piece of fake linen in cotone? You would have had my head if he knew. Then, he called. Must’ve sensed I was going to spend Euro’s. I explained. He suggested No. I said OK. He rang off. Shoved into the bright yellow carrier bag one single and one double to try them out and headed with Hope for better luck in the Basket Department. Dinky things. Miserable selection. Anxious to leave… consumer disappointment can be difficult to bear, if unexpected OR, unwanted… I picked up two 50’s looking basket things I discovered later were too small for holding even 1/10th of our pillow archive at il Poggiolo. Fled to the self-service cash stand… and without picking up more stuff which had caught my fancy… used a laser gun similar to the one previously seen to scan my scanty purchases, paid, left. D for Dog. Whew!!! Oh, well… I may have to shop Maison du Monde. The French competition. Mais oui!!! At least, I got out. Had a caffe’. Ate a burger. Enjoyed the views. Arrived safe & sound. Home Sweet Home? Yes! The Joys of Lockdown? Well, I’m not sure I’d go that far but, there’s certainly Peace & Tranquility and one very happy Puppy waiting to have me back home again. The drive was nice.
I've stopped counting...
…the days of Lockdown. I’ve got more important things to occupy myself with than Math.
Nor do I care what others are doing in any ol’ COVID-19 Phase, I am still maintaining Phase 1 Coronavirus Lockdown. It is Life as it was, still is and will be. I don’t mess with always.
I do not naturally follow Rules. I come from Colorado. Wild open West. Mountains, plains, wilderness, don’t fence me in, OK? What are Rules? However, in the case of this Coronavirus pandemic, I AM FOLLOWING THE LOCKDOWN RULES!!! del mio Dottore: avoid folk, eschew places folk congregated, consistently elect to… stay… at… home. Ample time to walk the Dog, work on photography, do yard work…
…by the way, I don’t think I have ever KILLED!!! a hydrangea in my life. Other plants, yes, mai una hortensia. Poor thing. Its flowers were so splendid cascading out of its 1930’s terracotta vase for a couple of years, keeping Dr. Bacchus company in his lonesome statuary vigil tucked off, as he is, to a corner of our Scenic Overlook. Dr Bacch- overlooks some peonies, a smattering of oak leaf hydrangeas and the sad one. This past February, while Coronavirus was gathering steam in Italy, I tried to move the plant in its large terracotta vase to a better location. The rim snapped off in my hand. I tried lifting the vase up from the bottom but, it would not budge… much. Found the plant’s roots had sought more fertile contact with Mother Earth through the drainage hole. A major exodus. Stopped-up the exit completely. Surveying the entire hydrangea-vase situation, I was alarmed to see the plant was drowning. Oh, dear…. Oh, my… drowned! I busted the pot. Water gushed out soaking my Adidas trainers…
They don’t lace. Hidden cords. Push a button on the side and twist it to tighten the shoe to the foot. They make my feet stink. Chinese synthetics. But, very cool looking footwear, I don’t mind saying. Black and Jamaican yellow and green. A modern day Rastafarian?
I went and got a shovel to dig a large hole and promptly re-planted the drowned hydrangea directly in the waiting guts of Madame Earth. I fear it was too late. No signs of life after two weeks, ie leaves, perhaps?
What I would so dearly love to KILL! KILL!! KILL!!!, however, would be the roving vines. Probably, yes, I could concede the flora-type I am annually afflicted with might be a nice contribution to un ambiente piu’ naturale, just not at il Poggiolo, thank you very much. Long, elegant and purple tendrils with delicately articulated light-green leaves easily distributed along the vines’ length, a lighter version of an ivy, are taking over every single plant, bush, tree in the garden. They go everywhere, respect nothing, and are totally indifferent to what they are strangling in this or in any other year. One can no longer enjoy the greenery You and I sweated to plant for the last 10 years. A menace.
A couple of weeks ago, I stopped by to see My English Friends in Codiponte to say Ciao! and find out how they were bearing the pandemic. All was OK so, I then steered the conversation to my unsuccessful war on roving vines. I received a prompt suggestion for the trouble of my visit with a guaranteed knock ‘em DEAD method…
gather up the vines, curl them into a ball, stuff them into a plastic garbage bag, spray poison inside… ABUNDANTLY!!!… tie the thing up and let the chemicals do their prescribed work. Though optimistic in winning this Chemical War, the tactic does decorate our Lunigiana premises with a disconcerting variety of blue, light-grey and light-green plastic garbage bags. There is nothing less decorative than plastic. Like, suddenly, the place has begun to return to its recent History… lo’ these 10 years ago… of being a community trash dump. Ahime’.
On an up-note… modern Italian technology has saved me from carrying around a very bad attitude regarding the weed-whacker. Previously thought to be the most odious machine ever thrown onto our modern gardening society. Mostly for equipping the plastic cord… we just can’t get away from plastic, can we?… in yet another plastic housing. The installation ruins the flow of the initiative to bush-whack grass & weeds into oblivion. The housing gave up the ghost this afternoon, while I swayed the machine back ‘n forth across il Poggiolo’s ramp’s tall, rain-nourished grass & weeds. Meant a drive to Gragnola… mask & gloves on… to the local hardware store. A fantastic establishment. All guys and they are extremely courteous & helpful for my city mouse dealing with a country mouse’s chores & tribulations. The Head Guy replaced the housing with a new one where you just insert the plastic cord… there we go again… into a hole, run it through and out another hole, turn the top dial and the plastic thing sucks the plastic cord into the plastic housing. Glorious. Totally. In ancient times, I would have had to disassemble the housing, separated the three pieces, wrap a long plastic cord… we we go again… around another plastic piece… gads… struggling to encourage said plastic cord to go around in circles against its plastic will… of course… slip each end through their respective holes… against their plastic will… the material is a plague… then quickly pop back on the rest of the housing before the plastic cord decides to spring out and land several feet away… to start the struggle all over again. I came home with the new housing and made clean work of the tall grass & weeds on the ramp. Done with great satisfaction and pride.
And now, for a bit of Spring color…
Il Poggiolo’s garden is inundated with flowers. A bumper crop. And how, with so little H2O? A trick of Mother Nature, perhaps? Here is a photo-medley…
If you will excuse me, I must return to the Chemical Battle.