Tensions to sell
A reply to the question, To sell or not to sell?, got stuck. Not so bad as a skipping vinyl 33, but nearly. It whirled in my head on a constant repeat. Despite the annoyance, and frustration too, I stayed stealth, attempting to forestall temptations to open up to You-know-who. Get my ducks in some semblance of a row first. Good to know they self, etc. before opening one’s big mouth. And, why be a masochist? Let’s wait.
Then, provoked by a gloriously warm Autumn day, I felt a moment had arrived. The mental waters were calm. Things had stopped spinning. Gosh-golly! Darn, if it didn’t happen on a day when You was present & accounted for and was acting congenially enough for me to broach the subject again… To sell or not to sell Il Poggiolo? Yes, open up, share the inability to shake the notion. It just would not go away. The winds seemed right, to bare all, find common ground of understanding & stuff and, perhaps, of action too. Ha!
It did not go well. Worse, actually. Instead of a No, I got a ruthless… Over My Dead Body. OMDB for short. Smacks of a US government agency, doesn’t it? Nope. It’s not. More You’s displeasure. Does correspond to a kind of nuclear war. One with no bomb shelter to duct into. Yikes? Yep.
I’ve toughed-out You’s invoking what he had just invoked. Not often though…
once was during the reconstruction of La Casa Grande. Phase Two: 2010-2011. Memory Lane of a very cold Winter. Anti-freeze mixed in with the mortar did not do the desired trick. The stuff froze immediately. So, work was suspended for the entire month of January 2011. Gave me time to re-think about how to better arrange what is today’s Salotto, Sala da Pranzo e Cucina Gialla. I thought the salotto mightt instead be an open kitchen affair in one corner with a large dining table between its island counters and a wall with a niche separating the large space from the other one next door. And in another corner nearer to the entrance door, a small sitting area with two comfy chairs before a pleasant firebox. Maybe book shelves there too. Nice, no? The Dining Room, the other space next door… often used more as a warehouse for You’s latest acquisitions. All purchased to give a good home to what others have chucked or dumped for a pittance at a local flea-market… would rather make a convenient library… we both read a lot… and an art studio for me. Only for me. There isn’t such no such place at Il Poggiolo for me to make messes. A pity. I may try to make amends. Sorry, I digress. These alternative plans stopped with what is today the Yellow Kitchen. Thought it could be fitted-out as an ample bathroom with… Hey! A bathtub. Wow! Ain’t got one of those either here. Loved my ideas immensely. Measurements were taken, drawings drafted from them, all was set to show to You. Bring him up-to-date. I was prepped. Showing him the A-3 plans, I don’t think You took even a weensy breath, except one to launch his verbal reaction… Over My Dead Body!!! Could hazard a guess he did not bother to look at the drawings. As a result, La Casa Grande is as previously described, traditionally built with a Salotto, Sala da Pranzo e una Cucina Giallo. It will be forever more. Ditto for sting of that OMDB.
Cannot recall any other instances but, I know they’re around… hiding in the bushes off our Memory Lane, I suppose.
Such a declaration is a pretty effective counter-measure. Quickly kills discussion. But this time? It became evident, in the succeeding days, that, actually, You had more to say about my ambition to sell. Unexpected broad-sides, forays, strafes & burns, assaults… conversational skirmishes!!!… on the topic would suddenly flare-up. For instance, while we sat eating dinner off our laps in front of one of our pleasant fireboxes, driving to Aulla to shop for groceries or, pay bills, and even enjoying the sunshine out on the aia with our respective books, etc. You’s book, apparently, must not have been terrifically interesting. Insufficient a distraction from what afflicted him.
What did catch me off-guard though, besides the internecine surprises with You’s lectures series… and, in consequence, has inspired me to retaliate out of meanness, since I AM A SOUTHENER, to go stealth and head full-steam forward with plans to sell, sell, sell… was his reiterating the main gist of his curious argument:
You… What am I supposed to say to my nieces?
Me… Sorry kids, the house’s been sold?
Another short conversation. This because we share real-estate? I can admit my reply was a lame. Mildly rude, maybe. The better response might have been to let You’s question hang there… in the air. You know? Torture can be an effective strategy when controversy’s about.
But hey? Such words! I and my? What happened to… we and our? It’s all about him. His fear of fare una brutta figura con le nipote, la famiglia, gli altri? Ruining his brand as The Head of the Family? Yes.
I may have committed a tactical & grammatical error using a particular personal pronoun too. My opening salvo, so to speak, was… I am thinking of selling Il Poggiolo. I only erred once. You did twice. Reflecting, a more amenable statement could have been… What do you think, You, if we were to sell Il Poggiolo? Could have worked. Eliminated the knee-jerk OMDB? No way knowing now. What was said, was said.
Regardless, who does You think he is? Have a quick answer. E’ un principe e un dottore. In that order. What a combo- platter. Pedigree and intelligence. Equals suffers upon others his I-Am-The-Center-Of-The-World Syndrome. IATCOTWS. Has had extensive training. Years. Automatic club membership. By the way, the acronym is pronounced… Eee-ahhTT-CoTT-WiSS. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it? A mouthful. Meanwhile, for us plebs, it’s called Self-centered-ness. I should remember this. I don’t seem to, neglecting any recall from over the twenty-six years of extensive personal experience I have earned. Another excuse? I have a short memory. That’s it!
You, the poor thing, when confronting unexpected events.. ie, the World ain’t turning as he would want or, was taught to expect, retreats into hurt, betrayal, mumbles about his wounds. I believe it simply covers tracks, of being resoundingly pissed off. Never mind. It’s always going to be my fault. Nothing to be done. Must leave him to stew in his juices. All of them. And hope a tomorrow comes quickly and I sell the house.
Maybe something about those nieces?
There are five of them. They are affectionate kids. Well, sorry, more women. The eldest has surpassed thirty. The youngest is hovering at twenty. She’s thinking about it. All are pretty, fashionable, lively, making their way in Life, and each has un fidanzato and in two cases, un marito. The crowd of them all get along too. Amazing. Not the gossipy, competitive bunch on both sides of my family. Americans. Life is a game and is to be won. Now, get out of my way. Rather more prefer the Italian’s modus operandi: Let’s eat and have fun. Yippee!
For five-hundred years… senza interruzione… You’s family has produced maschi soltanto… until this latest generation, now of ONLY girls. So much for the last name. The nieces will just have to hitch the family’s cognome to their husband’s, for historical tracing, much like loading-up a freight train bound for Modena with extra box-cars, as is the Italian’s want & custom. It’s why You’s last name is so long. A series. Mildly episodical. A long train. I won’t go into the number of given names he carries around… in his zaino. Oh! Hey! I can abbreviate! R-GC-M-E-G. I think there might be two other initials. Can’t pull them out. My memory, as per the previous warning. Get the idea, no?
The whole lot of nieces + significant-others traditionally come down to Codiponte to visit i loro zii at least twice a year. The first is usually in May for a slew of family birthdays. You’s, his mamma’s, a niece’s, an aged aunt’s. Often, they descend more than twice. I never know when. I don’t get to choose the weekend. You tells me at the last minute and they show up. Every visit entails much which is similar to the tedious prep-work for You’s family’s Pranzo di Natale: multi-trips to the grocery store, hauling the loads from the garage up two flights of stairs and a trip in an elevator, two to three days of cooking in a kitchen where the cutting & dicing spaces… already minute by design… are occupied by an agglomeration of orchids, pills, objects of devotion… such as, plastic Halloween ghosts & goblins from 10 years ago… UFO’s, unwashed pans & plates!!!!, and cleaning or, hiding dust & stuff before la festa natalizia, and then, the usual post-event put-the-house-back-to-order. Whew! I have recently been successful to extradite myself from such Christmas tedium by solidly anchoring myself in Codiponte for the holidays this past year of 2024. Possible pay-back for that OMDB? Maybe. Don’t know yet. Just tired. Oh! Come to think of it, however, I may need to hang on to Codiponte just to insure I can continue avoiding a future of those Yuletide labors. Oh, dear. Confusion’s settling in.
Courage. I’m going forward with The Game Plan to sell or, at least, try. The nieces will have to cut-out for new territories. Buy their own homes in the country. Or, if I do, we can meet in Genoa for a pizza.
Oh! One last detail. Relatively important. Sorry, I forgot to mention this: for The Record, Il Poggiolo is my house, in black & white, on paper. You’s name does not appear. It’s not an ours, it is a mine.
I called the real-estate agent who had sold us Il Poggiolo lo’ these sixteen years ago. He sold it. Thought it would be a kind opportunity for him to try selling the place, and to some deserving person willing to pay my asking price. What might that be? I ain’t telling. Lots. My rational? Il Poggiolo is in Italy, Tuscany, the Lunigiana. THESE ARE THE ONLY UNIVERSES WHICH COUNT!!! The houses are old, like 800+ years old. The complex is in an historic village. Solid river stone construction too. Recently re-built from foundations to the roofs. Actually, Italian houses do not have foundations. Houses are anchored to a big rock. Nonetheless, stone and that big rock are certainly a far superior method of residential construction, compared to those plywood & metal bracket affairs built over in America, and which, you see on the nightly news destroyed and cleverly strewn over hill & highway after a line of tornadoes have whirled through. Il Poggiolo has a fenced in private garden. 25,000 square feet of it and with antique statuary and terracotta vases here & there. Lots of flowering trees & plants. The complex can sleep 11, has 3 Kitchens, a Laundry Room, a working pizza and/or bread oven, is furnished with an eclectic decor from the Contemporary to the Antique and with occasional decorative rest-stops at Vintage, plus enough plates, wine glasses and silverware, etc. for parties of up to 150… yes, and one was my 60th Birthday Party. 200 folk… and a Fish Pond with a frigging fountain spewing out of a wolfs’s mouth, to name just a few of Il Poggiolo’s priceless and truly charming attributes. A photo medley…
We will just have to see what the market response will be, won’t we? Well, once the real-estate ad is placed on the real-estate agent’s website. Wish me luck?