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.
