Past & present threads….
Unexpected though very exciting developments at House hunting blues. New and favourable circumstances are blowing the German couple in their quest to buy a home in Italy. They have made an offer on il Cedro and are actively involved in the ongoing negotiations. The usual. First offer rejected. Owner made a mark on the ground and said, he would NEVER cross it, and then he did. Was nudged by the real-estate agent. Good. THE LATER Earning his keep. The wife of the couple heartily agreed with him… said it seemed silly not to come to an agreement over the difference of a few Euro’s. May I say?…
this particular real-estate agent, a young man, is and has always been a congenial, available, honest!!! person and I am quite grateful for his help and participation. People like him are not often found in the real-estate business… here in Italy. What I remember from my experiences with real-estate agents in America were they were either bored housewives needing to make regular leasing payments on their late model Jaguars or, Gay men with too much personality and doctored smiles. Honesty or, much less, integrity were not on their maps. To be fair, I can tell you stories about said creatures on both sides of the Atlantic. Would raise the hair on your back or, make your hair curl. Whichever happens first. Might even make a book. But, back to the winds of blowing…
Price has been agreed upon and, apparently, a contract written and sent to the two parties for their signatures.
These kids are sharp. I say kids because, now that I am actively brushing 70 years of age, most of the World is younger. They have been remarkably thorough with their conditions, requests, solicitations, participation. Good deal. They are purchasing a house they have not seen with their own eyes. Other have sussed the place out. It passed muster. These kids took the reins and are riding well and onto a happy conclusion. They have my respect and admiration.
But, not so quickly for others. I have comments…
I have followed clients over the years, apparently successful and wealthy individuals, couples, who have bought properties at home where they live full-time, and yet, in doing the same in Italy, chuck Good Sense or, simply and completely ignored the procedures, details and the questions to ask in buying or, selling property here or, they have blindly deferred to others, as if on another planet, raising their heads only when it came time to write out a check. Real-estate is no different in Italy than anywhere else in the World. One simply needs to ask the obvious questions, take the time to read the documents, which can easily be translated, reply in kind, actively participate. It’s part of the fun. Some get it. Others not.
And, it’s important…
years ago, in our own search for a home in the Lunigiana, a real-estate agent sent me an email with a listing of a hay barn. Its caption was… Potrebbe essere un gancino per Voi nella Lunigiana…. or, hook, for You & Me in the Lunigiana. T’was truly time to get things rolling after a four year off & on house hunt. Some disappointments along the road. Never did manage to see the gancino place but, a week after that email, You & I were on our way to acquiring il Poggiolo. Our circumstances, our attitude had changed, allowing us to find just the place to our liking and budget. When it happens, it can happen fast. Wake up. Be attentive. You & I did. Same story for the German couple.
Now, I wonder if they are planning some kind of celebration? Understand they had three wedding parties. Our German friends sure know how to party. They drink. An indication for a good party in my book. They’re young.
No special reason but, I thought I would mention it anyway…
the first bit of colour, say around mid-February, harkening the arrival of Spring, is the yellow of Forsythia or, January Jasmine, if you come from The Deep South. You HATES yellow flowers. Forsythia is one vigorously prohibited, as is any other yellow flower, for that matter, in our garden at il Poggiolo. Right now though, at the end of September and with the 21st behind us, the garden of il Poggiolo is overrun by yellow. Cistus plants and its yellow blooms. An oversight on my part. The tag showed white-ish flowers. I bought several. And, I am probably and deplorably not good at obeying Rules & Regulations. From anyone. Duplicating the previous mistake and, oblivious to the pre-declared edict/s, I extracted from an abandoned house’s garden these stalky, flowery things with huge, bright yellow flowers. I thought they look charming, festive things. They were weeds. WEEDS!!! Now, You & I are indentured to pulling up these abhorrent flore at every whisper of their germination. And, as the culprit, I must endure You’s grumblings on why I cannot follow The Rules & Regulations. His Rules & Regulations. Not mine. Yet, a Lesson learned and not repeated to date. Only to defend myself. Though, in hindsight, I wonder why, after twenty-one years of sharing real-estate, canines, stuff, You hasn’t gotten the Math about me? Oh, well. Got news for the man despite whatall. The last flowers of Summer are these daisy looking flowers… in Small, Medium & Large dimensions… and in the same darn yellow colour You hates so much. Must mar his views of the Lunigiana landscape driving in his beat-up AUDI from Aulla to Codiponte. Oh, well.
And, for the moment…
as for A light at the end of the tunnel, You & I are happily inside enjoying the warmth of our two newly fitted out fireboxes and, weary from our collective and individual toils with our latest adventure in Home Improvements. YIPPEE!!! The Dog’s keen too though he dislikes the noise I make loading logs onto a raging fire. Ahime’… But, Good Riddance to those toils. Not the attitude to take, yet really, folks, too much time and stress and over my dead body to suit a sensitive soul as mine. I earned my 68 years old. Cannot speak for You. Un carroarmato.
I want everyone to know, however, You single-handedly re-hung and placed everything you see in the above photos. As many insiders are aware of, I do not drive nails into walls. Gives me the creeps. And, I hate to see freshly painted stucco walls marred by a misplaced slam of the hammer, creating unsightly defects… ugly shots of white, so evident with our Signature Blue.
Yes, ladies & gentlemen, You diligently worked for two days during our last weekend to return what all to their previous-places/former-homes/roosting-positions. Dusting & cleaning were also involved. Required several referrals to my iPhone photos stocks and a great amount of patience…. ON EVERYONE’S PART, THE DOG INCLUDED!!! Oh, and my wisely arranged absence from the premises. I worked in the garden, making amends for the lack of a three month avoidance, due to the extreme heat & humidity in these parts we citizens of Codiponte and elsewhere must now currently endure. After a stint of staying inside in relative cool, but with n’er a window or, shutter even cracked a tiny bit, I might now gladly huddle on an iceberg in a down parka holding a placard calling for more efforts to stem Global Warming. Sadly, I can’t get a flight out of Pisa Airport to go anywhere.
I now have to pay off everyone involved in the initiative.
Home Embellishments…
A teaser. We’re still under construction. Excuse out mess has been kept out of sight. We want it to be A Big Surprise.
None of this would be necessary, however, had it not been for a mighty re-think… To go or not to go on vacation. Last Saturday was Ferragosto, the sacrosanct Italian National Summer Holiday, which hits punctually every August 15th. Traditionally, you go on vacation after the 15th, if you can’t take the entire month off. COVID-19 came and put most everyone on an unexpected hiatus… no work, no money and, little of anything else, if
you weren’t a bit inventive or, resigned to wait for Better Times… many professed the absolute necessity to forego the vacation this Summer and KEEP WORKING!!! Must be either the African HEAT or, the HORDES of foreign & Italian holiday-makers galavanting around in campers and on motorcycles… the last an irresistible temptation for any male of the Italian species… causing a reconsideration of the noble declaration to KEEP WORKING!!! rather than hit the road for sun ‘n fun. Some habits or, addictions, are just too hard to avoid. Those construction professionals scheduled to do the work during the August holidays on our Home Improvements, only one completed his tasks…. Our Builder from il Poggiolo’s total reconstruction days lo’ those 11 years ago. All the others excused themselves of a week-long absence…. darn them.
I do not want to say much more on what You & I are up to at il Poggiolo. I can say though that it has been a Mt. Cavalry. Stations of the Cross. The cross was heavy to drag…
…what with the house topsy-turvy… furniture shoved out of the way and pyramids of stuff piled on top… plastic sheets wafting over all and to no avail in the battle against the infiltration of construction dust, workmen of every stripe trooping in & out where The Dog & I normally rest our weary bodies watching Netflix together on a single sofa/bed, afternoon temps slamming up against 100F degrees and accompanied by a commensurately high shot of humidity and, an inordinate quantity of WhatsApp messages & telephone calls from il Dottore You from his COVID-19 HQ Command Post… spikes are a happenin’ in Italy, folk… dictating this, ordering that, threatening an Over-my-dead-body or, two, on a couple of crucial points of design and, generally, insisting upon being apprised of any & all ongoing developments, WHICH ONLY SAPPED ME of the strength to think, to properly delegate, to maintain a will to live, all of the above. WHEW!!! My blood pressure sky-rocketed. Nose-bleeds galore. Grotesque headaches, disorientation, nausea too. WHAT FUN!!! I went to hospital with paper towelling sprouting out my nose and with the added FEAR!!! driving a beat-up SUV with wild heart palpitations. Staff administered a powerful & tranquillising medicine in drop form to smooth the waters of my distress, while another was given to bring down the high number of my blood pressure. Restored somewhat, I drove home… senza Scottex o carte igienica spuntando dal mio naso anglo-sassone… to continue the struggle up Mt. Cavalry.
I had only myself to blame. I had committed AN ENORMOUS FUCK-UP. Don’t ask. It’s just too, too embarrassing. As per the above, my plea is… I was not myself. The E.F.U. has since been happily resolved by Our Builder, who has a kind & understanding bed-side manner. No more nose bleeds either.
Putting aside any more shenanigans with Our Eventual Big Surprise, get a load of these…
…fragments of architectural ornament, embellishments in marble, stone and concrete, scavenged from a villa once belonging to You’s family on the Italian Riviera. You’s family sold the villa & gardens after WWII to pay the whopping taxes the Italian government demanded to help pull Italy out of the depths of destruction and civil war. The owners sold off all of the garden lands to developers anxious to construct holiday apartments for a coming post-war boom in international travel & vacation. They used the villa for a few years, until their grown-up children stopped coming. The children thought the villa old, ugly, draughty, not COOL. It was left to rot to the point that the local municipality forced the owners to bring on the wrecking ball. The place was about to collapse upon the neighbouring apartment buildings. You’s brother saw an announcement to come and get what you want. He did and what he got was promptly delivered to il Poggiolo with less than a 24 hour notice last Thursday and by a young husband & wife team… two blond, athletic, tanned!!! porno-divas sporting the latest in body-revealing fashions. They dumped the haul and left. Good riddance. I do not need, deserve, nor care to heed advice regarding any lack of direct vehicular access to my 800 year old farm-house and, especially by someone whose range of intelligence looks to centre upon manipulating a condom. But… ahhh, take pause to gander at the Joys of Placement. You’s favourite past-time here at il Poggiolo though he did manage to do some weeding before our Ferragosto party last Saturday night. Bless him.
The garden today...
Archive post March 24, 2010…
There goes the neighborhood… the Garden is in a worse state than to have us called White Trash… whatever that is in Italian… though we are NOT in Puglia… one of the junkiest regions of the Italian boot… or, Campania… representing Il Mezzogiorno… or, The Italian South… in this exalted category. Think trash & what comes to mind? Naples, the capital of Campania, for sure!!!
We have a good excuse though. We are a building site. But, come to think of it… this might be those citizen’s excuse too. However, we hope to be finished by June. Some of the beauty spots I’ve seen near Napoli are in a perpetual state of construction. I hear it’s a way to avoid paying the taxes you get socked with when all is done & finished.
So evident is our bright orange plastic fencing around The Garden… like a nuclear waste dump… and said to be for Reasons of Security & Safety… the Carabinieri came a calling the other day… looking for clandestine workers besides other nefarious occupations with builders. Thanks to Mr. Berlusconi… his rightist government is more than just hysterical about immigrants… it is maniacal. It suspects they are lurking everywhere. But, hey! I AM AN IMMIGRANT!!! You missed me. However, I am gainfully providing work for the local Italians… let us NOT forget this Vital Point, please. I also have Il Permesso di Soggiorno to do so.
What to do? What to do? What to do with The Garden? Nothing until the cement mixer finds another home.
Poor scraggly prune trees. All that ugly dirt is waiting for the go-ahead for Marcello to arrive with his ditch-digger to set all like it was before. I cannot wait to seminate! I feel it to be My True Destiny!
NOT forgetting to get my hands on tearing out all the junk I keep finding. This is a tractor part engaged in making a make-shift fence. Wretched contadini!
Gads.
Unexpected project...
Archive post February 21, 2019…
Like out of the blue!
Tending to the many Tasks-at-hand, and here’s an Updated List:
Dog Fence is in. And it has successfully prohibited any canine escape to sniff & plunder the precincts near about to Il Poggiolo. Nina-beena can no longer trot off to a plot of grass at the end of a neighbor’s courtyard above us and conveniently accessed through a two-way iron gate once a short flight of slate steps have been navigated. Nina-beena is becoming old & infirm. And, in particular, having bowed and unsteady hind parts makes stairs a daunting gymnastic. These denizens of the Borgo Castello toss their pranzo & cena left-overs for the cats. One fears that a chicken bone or two might be included in what was chucked. Meanwhile, The Croesus-person is denied his high-tails in a lateral direction to sniff the lower sectors near another neighbor’s house, tragically painted in a near day-glo ochre color, which will NEVER fade over Time, and where the cats seem to take what was gotten from above to dine upon hidden in Quite & Peace.
Called in our intrepid electrician… 10 years in our employ and n’er the word, No, from his lips… and indeed is a congenial Italian elf-of-a-man given to expressing opinions on pretty much everything, including topics outside his professional competence. Good that his suppositions are often of a sound & practical value… to revamp some light connections, mount a new one, where Darkness & Gloom reigned thick, and add exterior & interior light switches with heavy-duty outlets too. He is still searching for a replacement plastic door to our main electrical box. I had to assault it to Total Destruction with an IKEA screw-driver, when the key snapped off in the door’s lock. All in a nervous attempt to restore ASAP our electricity after it had mysteriously gone off. I am more than content on the improvements.
No word from our Cowboy Builder about coming to construct and install the two fireboxes for the LR & DR of La Casa Grande. The dude is currently working on a house project in some remote place not covered by any telephone network. Only if I am so lucky to remember to try him during the Pausa Pranzo, when he descends into a more accessible area of civilisation or, before he switches off his late 1990’s mobile as he strides into the OK-Corral, where he bunks with his latest girlfriend.
And, I am experiencing the latest chapter… Chapter 29… in a continuing saga to have repaired and/or restored many of Il Poggiolo’s wood painted windows & doors, so sadly ruined by rain, wind, heat and cold in our part of the Lunigiana. I had an appointment scheduled just this morning at 8:30AM. CANCELLED at 8:11AM. No replies to any of my whatsapps expressing availability until 2PM this afternoon. As Scarlet once remarked… Tomorrow is another day!
But onwards with the story…
…You mentioned… No! Wrong verb… INSISTED!!!… on the telephone a few days ago an ardent wish of His that someone come and re-do-nearly-everything about the Grassy Terrace right above the Apt. Azzurro. It’s the one with Mr. Hercules at the far end. News to me. Before I could ask even A Questions like… Are you ready to have a bull-dozer enter the garden and wrought its havoc upon our terrain?… I was compelled to listen to what sounded like one of You’s pre-meditated and extensive programs of rendering our humble home more gentile rather than leave it a farm-house, as it has been for the last 800 less 10 years of its Life. Again, I thought… Are you ready to have a bull-dozer enter the garden and wrought its havoc upon our terrain? Adding… just so you can adjust a slope?
The provocation brought back memories. We had to ask Our Builder… a trans-located Sardinian, who, though bravo in resolving issues of construction, was also a genius for creating new & nerve racking ones of his own making and to our suffering… because the garden actually had become an inclined garbage dump. Builders and staff are ALWAYS & NOTORIOUSLY a messy folk. The Builder’s nephew, a fierce-some kid of 20 decorated with piercings every-which-way and capped by a bush-whacked punk hair-cut, arrived with a mini-bull-dozer capable of swivelling 360 degrees…. in either sense. He joyously careened from one trash-strewn mound to another, levelling, grading, excavating, moving Ol’ Mother Earth in all her Local Majesty to give us terraces for which we might possibly plant grass. The machine, in his adroit hands, was like a joy-stick of movement & glee. In two days, the kid had altered a dump into a gentile cascade of dirt terraces, ready for semination. Done, he drove off into the sunset with his mini-bull-dozer only to be met occasionally again in nearby pizzerias.
Enough of my reverie… You was avid to arrest what to Him appeared to be an unmistakable slant to the slope off the row of fruit trees and assorted clumps of lavender down to the boxwood hedges below. Fine, I said, it goes at the bottom of The List. What? Well, of course, without a doubt, most assuredly but, I don’t want you to forget about it! I had to reply… Bull-dozer, You, repeat after me, bull-dozer. It would be an aid to Our Mutual Progress & Tranquility of us participants, if You would communicate these Desires with a more casual air. I get a Panzer Division. Rest assured, the Grassy Terrace Repair is now on The List, once I had figured out what The Real Truth was: the slight slope of the Grassy Terrace disturbed the distant point of focus of Mr. Hercules, bought at auction at catawiki.it. (Delivery cost more than the statue.) Makes sense, I can see that, quite right, You. If he had only said so at the beginning, I might have saved on tranquillisers. Italians! So un-transparent and hyper-.
Fence is finished...
Archive post February 16, 2019…
And the Dogs just HATE it!!! Are we much surprised? I am a bit offended. If those Two Creatures knew what that Tuscan Green metal infrastructure has cost me, they would have a little more respect. Naturally not. They’re Dogs.
We traditionally stroll through the garden of Il Poggiolo after lunch. I to tremble & shake with with anxiety over all the gardening tasks awaiting my robust intervention. Starting soon after I have pounded out this blog-post. Every year I strive to carry the garden to its prime, say by Easter? Thank God, it’s late this year. The Dogs sniff along the perimeter of their confinement. Then they come to me for an explanation. I give them a resounding… Ha!!!
You is totally bored by the fence. Never asks. And when it occasionally trips into a new-worthy topic on the telephone, the subject quickly slides to the weather… or, his bad back.
You and I do wholeheartedly agree: money should be spent ONLY on fun stuff: furniture, rugs, porcelain plates, objets d’art, boar’s heads!!! etc. The rest, the non-fun stuff of fences, new windows, additional fireplaces, and solar f%#*/g panels, should be gratis. Manna from Heaven. A subsidy by the Italian State. Heck, we live in a country decaying from Socialist & Commie ideals. But surely there‘s still some euros handy? Our little infrastructure WAS a make-work initiative. All You & I can hope for is added value to our Tuscan farm-house. Yeah, right.
The guys did an exceptional job. No doubt about it. The two were punctual, steady, precise. Their fence is regular, well-built, Tuscan Green. There are many good tracks and some others pretty darn unsightly. We pray to Mother Nature to kick-in.
Below is a medley of photos on the fence, in the following order, from left to right: acceptable, ugly, charming, and the piece de la resistance, a new fangled pergola. Enjoy!
Little black hoses...
Archive post March 24, 2010…
Gosh…. will Wonders never cease? And, so soon after My Initial Shock with a paint color earlier in the afternoon. I had no idea that the dangling black rubber tube draped across the facade of my years old Tuscan farm-house is my only access to running water in La Casetta. However, I do have a hunch some clever person will come along & invent another method and/or placement for said tube. Burying it might be an idea, no? So novel too. Gads.
That dangling black tube is our water supply from the source to la Casetta below.
The shock of my life...
Archive post March 23, 2010…
Naturally, photos do not do any Justice…
Maybe you had to be there, when I walked in to see a yucky candy wrapper Blue-Green paint on my newly stucco-ed walls of La Casetta, I knew… instantaneously… it was NOT Our Signature Sage Color I had spent so many Euro’s on various paint candidates to find just the RIGHT SAGE GREEN for Mr. You-know-who.
I called the Painter but, my cellphone conveniently was out of juice, refusing every attempt to be kick-started too. I then called Our Geometra, however, he wasn’t available either. So, I corralled Our Builder, handily present to offer any criticism, and he said… Non e’ giusto. A man of few words, is Our Builder. He then left me to gaze at the horror. Finally, while soothing my worried color sense on a piping hot plate of gnocchi & funghi at my favourite local trattoria, Our Geometra called to tell me that that sickening Blue-Green was only the primer coat. WHEW!!! Crisis averted. Gads.
You can see the difference between the wall as I found it today in the left-hand photo and The Correct Sage Green in the photo on the right. Sadly, the colors look a bit off-kilter in the photos from any Real Life impression, with much thanks to the rainy day outside and its waining & wavering light. But, the Sage Green on the right IS You’s Signature Sage Color.
Un-do to re-do...
Archive post March 21, 2010…
The Procedure is... the old chestnut beams are removed for restoration. Then, the first 1/2 yard of stonework is re-built with the old stones and cement mortar. The refurbished beams are then returned to their rightful positions before the cordolo of cement & iron rods in constructed. The cordolo is sort of capping which keeps all together. Once-upon-a-time, only the tree trunks held the stone walls & roof together as one unit. Now, The Law dictates a cordolo and Good Sense requires the under-flooring of a solaio to keep all together, through thick & thin and, hopefully, through shake-rattle-and-roll! (It did in the earthquake of June 23, 2013)
The beams are more than heavy. It needs four work-guys to carry one off. The fourth fellow is out of view in the photo. He was adjusting his ipod for the upcoming effort. Gads.
