Home...
You & I bought il Poggiolo because, I wanted a house in the country. Since we live in Italy, the nearest acceptable country to Genoa, our permanent residence, was the Lunigiana. This little known corner of Northwestern Tuscany is similar to the kind of territory I had known and adored from visiting relatives in The South… predominantly, the Piedmont and Appalachian areas of South Carolina, North Carolina and Georgia. Destiny did the rest.
The house is large and is divided into three parts. The inhabitants had once lived up in the Appartamento Azzurro. I know this Codiponte family. Many were born in what is now my Bedroom. Every now & then, one comes across their initials etched into stone pavers around il Poggiolo. Then, the last of the children grew up, married and moved out. The parents relocated down to La Casetta which, was given an economical re-do by the owner of il Poggiolo… a woman who had inherited the property and rarely set foot in it. Wonders of wonders, a new, modern AND indoor Bathroom!!! The central house, our la Casa Grande, was a vast hay barn and small workrooms for making salamis, cheeses and wine. The garden wasn’t a garden but, a vineyard. The only remnants of this past are the two tini… wine vats… in a passageway connecting the outdoor courtyard…. l’aia… to the cool room where those fruits of labor were once stored and is now il Poggiolo’s communal Laundry and Bathroom.
We had to completely rebuild il Poggiolo from the foundations to the roof. No foundations with Italian houses of yesteryears. Instead, they were either built… lent would be another verb here… against an existing structure…. in il Poggiolo’s case, the remnants of the perimeter walls of the Castle of Codiponte which, one can see on the aia… courtyard… or, erected upon a rocky mount. Akin to keeping something stationary, thanks to a rocky lump. Seems to have held for the last 800 years. See no need to worry. Now buried or hidden below from our renovations.
When you reconstruct, you are think house, not home. Reinforcing walls, dealing with humidity issues, modern plumbing & electrical plants, new roofs, flooring… ad infinitum. Massive work, lot of moola, time consuming. Of the three, the first… FYI… is contained in all the blog posts at Italian House from 2009 to 2014. Nothing to say about spending money except it was spent. And, as for the last, it took You & I four years to get il Poggiolo up & running as a house.
From restoring, we moved on to Maintenance & Upkeep. Not my favourite category. And, historically, the Italians aren’t much better at it either. Oh, they can certainly design & build glories, but then, those treasures fall into a state the rest of us think is so chic, so charming, glamours, and Italian, though rarely do we mention the word decrepit. You & I have replaced several windows & doors. Terrible the ravages of rain & cold & wind. We have reworked some electrical switches & outlets and added more lights. And, in a few instances we’ve even gone totally LED. Always too bright. New washers and cooktops too. Most recently, we installed two fireboxes to have a modicum of heat nel salotto e nella sala da pranzo… the Living and Dining Rooms… of la Casa Grande. Such dust & disorder. I was forced by night to sleep in my Bedroom up in l’Appartamento Azzurro… with the Dog… normally preferring to sleep in a bed posing as a sofa in the Salotto during the late Spring, Summer and early Fall months… and living by day out on the Loggia and cooking in the Kitchen of la Casa Grande. The Dog has not understood n’er a wit of any of this. Putting the main part of il Poggiolo back into some form of cleanliness & order post-construction, and taking the example of our German friends, who are re-doing their historic abode fai-da-te… or, do-it-yourself, though two amazingly informed persons on construction will one ever be so lucky to meet… You & I re-waxed TWICE!!! the terracotta flooring throughout la Casa Grande, the Laundry & Loggia included. Back breaking, knee ruining, hip crushing work. You was a beast. Brush, brush, brush, he worked. I attempted the same. At one point though, fed up listening to my grunts & groans while brushing each paver with liquid wax, he told me to go walk the Dog. I did. And felt remarkably better and ready to resume the chore. I tried new positions with some success. Taking a pill helped considerably.
You spoke of protection and enriching. I thought… home. The wax left a nice, warm scent of one. A surprising concept… home… for il Poggiolo. it was time. The idea dawned on me while nursing a recuperative white wine in una delle mie poltrone… shot from too many Dogs sleeping in them… before an active fire that, yes, indeed, after all these tweaks… for lack of a better word… actually render our house as a home. Settling in. Finding a happy rhythm of sleeping in our originally assigned BR’s and spending the day nella Casa Grande. A medium of comfort, convenience without causing the house any undue distress in undergoing changes to its infrastructure. One idea on that score was to bash out a wall and put in French Doors nella sala da pranzo. I got a blood curdling… Over my dead body!!!… from You. I suspect the house was actually using him as its spokes-person because, it willingly underwent the construction of the two fireplaces without a hitch. Now, if we can find places for the stuff displaced by the two fireboxes, we really will have a home. A home? Yes, a home.
The last days of August...
I want Lockdown back. I think. Surely for the part of no vehicles… cars, trucks, vans, pick-ups, apes, motorcycles or, bicycles… and, for those airborne… no helicopters or, passenger planes. Only Peace & Quiet. OK… a few tweeting birds, clouds floating by. The later sometimes rumble…
I spent a full hour yesterday stopped in a massive traffic jam, and with a semi-crazed Weimaraner jumping from the passenger seat to the larger back bench behind. Said adored creature wanted to get a better angle by shoving his snout out the double picture sliding glass windows opened primarily for air. Not for entertainment or, sport. There was something aromatic outside. A sensitive nose. Trash along the road? Wafting of an imminent pranzo? Certainly not the saturated smell of fresh asphalt being laid on the highway ahead. I heard the teams of men and machinery to arrive at that conclusion. Too many cars, trucks, vans, pick-ups, apes, motorcycles, and bicycles between me and them for a view. The same story looking behind. Endless line of vehicles. As the clock on the SUV’s dashboard ticked the last minutes of that full hour, a gentleman in a bright white and new Peugeot SUV passing us in the opposite direction and seeing me and the Dog hanging out windows with nothing possible to do but hang, slowed and WARNED… Turn around. It’ll be another hour before you get to Aulla. A mere kilometre away. I did. And, it took a comparable hour driving over a series of twisting & winding back roads of the Lunigiana to breach the town’s limits. Better to move than to be stuck, I always say. I can run the AC, if the car is moving.
You know there is an active and oblivious authority operating when, at the worst possible moment… Like hey! At the height of the August Vacations you have to do this? With everyone racing around in their vehicles?… they march in men & heavy equipment to make some stretch of infrastructure safe or, efficient per il popolo italiano. Typically it is the autostrade. Now, they are going for the secondary arteries. As we are told, God rests in His Heaven above but, above the Italian government rests the European Union. An EU flush with funds coupled to a rabid bureaucracy eager to launch new edicts to make A Better European Community. A wonky bugle blow would be appropriate here. The EU feels its mission is Good Works. They throw money at them, ie the reconstituted Medieval Ponte of Codi-bridge. The latest, lo’ & behold, is the wizardry of our times entrusting upon us of a new form of asphalt, one which absorbs rain water. Fancy that? Somehow it does the trick and eliminates the risk of hydro-planning or, sliding into a slowed-down FIAT Panda during a cloud-burst while an elderly couple inside can genuflect passing the cemetery at Rometa. What a novelty! Not the cemetery. The asphalt. A blessing? Maybe. I’ll let you know towards November. We are loved and protected. By the EU. Someone has to do it. A Big Brother? Maybe, and when all the highways & byways of Italy are beautifully re-made & safe according to the terms of the EU bureau-edict. Black, smooth asphalt and bright white road markings. The beauty lays in the contrast, you know? The EU edict-ed that too. And, it shall remain ever so. Bureaucracies don’t change.
The Dog & I made it to Aulla. It was Our Wednesday Morning Mission. I must say it was a productive visit despite the hindrances and time constraints. Managed to picked up the prepared marble pieces for il Poggiolo’s home improvements before the place closed for pausa pranzo. And, more importantly, I got in some necessary shopping. It’s great to be a guy! New underwear! Certi modelli in 100% cotone e altri in 100% micro-fibre… the fabrics caress. Could be dangerous. Or, noticeable. And the colours? Black with bright green, grey with orange, white with Navy blue, and solid bright blue, petroleum, and asphalt. No kidding. I’d post a photo but I am too shy. Oh! And, new tight round collar T-shirts to go with the new slip-boxers. Checked out the nice lady at the local designer shoe store and waltzed happily out with new pair of Premiata trainers ON SALE in black, yellow & grey. Very cool. Very comfortable. Very well built. All the better for one with two hip ops walking the Dog. New drafting ink pens and a box full of black BIC pens purchased at the cartoleria, and then, off the Dog & I travelled home and as we had come. The Long Way.
But what an August it’s been. KA-KA-BOOM!!! Ferragosto. Work suspended ‘cause operai fled on a week’s vacation. Heat & humidity clamped onto to the Codiponte forecast like there was no tomorrow and there may not be with the Coronavirus spikes here, weirdly dressed families resembling cartoon characters in tell-tale bright colours escorting obese children clutching their mamma or, large groups of teenagers trooping up & down behind il Poggiolo to do what? Take a walk? In this heat? Check out il Borgo Castello? At 3PM in the afternoon? Anything to get away from i genitori? Admire themselves in the rear-view mirrors of cars parked in the Borgo’s Parking Lot exhibiting the current and most hideous feminine fayeshion to date of micro-boxing shorts and A-shirts? I sent the Dog to bark at them at our back gate. He did so willingly. I love his enthusiasm. A threateningly basso profondo. Good Dog. Squeals were heard as a consequence. He was awarded with A Mighty Reward. of a wurstel. Cars practically double parked below the Codi-bridge and Borgo Parking Lot. The list goes on and on, but I will refrain.
And yet, after nightfall, the world of Codi-bridge in August becomes softer, easy, cooler. Voices of folk outside on their terraces for dinner and after. Often well after Midnight. The muffled talks floats above the town’s rooftops. Many beautifully seen from the perch of our Loggia at il Poggiolo. From the heights of L’Appartamento Azzurro’s terrace, I can spy a few dinner tables set with the easy-to-wipe plastic checkerboard & flowers table cloths, plastic bottles of Coca-Cola & Fanta and water from Acqua Paradiso, plus many dishes & plates with traces of the evening meal. The calls of kids playing in the cool night air out on the Piazzetta. Often well after Midnight. Italian children. Guess they can. Schools re-open on the 14th of September, if all goes according to plan. We’ll see. Collections of people strolling below our house, meeting and stopping to chat with others out doing the same and before they risk Life & Limb on the Medieval Ponte. A nice rhythm pervades. Pleasant atmosphere. I let the sounds circulate and dissipate while chugging along with my book. 34 pages to go.
The August mornings I like the best. Both Dog & I up and out of the bed as the campanile strikes 7AM. What a racket. it reminds the Dog that he will eat shortly. But first… he goes to pee somewhere inauspicious in il Poggiolo’s garden. Me to open windows, make me a caffe’, maybe wash a few dirty dishes before His Excellency saunters in to be fed his breakfast. The Dog always looks astonished his bowl is not already full and on the rug next to his water dish. I take my caffe and a laptop to read the newspapers on-line out on the terrace… overlooking beautifully the Codiponte’s roofs… in a lawn chair You bought for Euro 10. Most comfortable chair for my Scottish fanny around. I savour the No Noise. Well, the birds can’t help themselves. Just Peace & Quiet. And a caffe. The Dog is on the bed.
7:15 Am at il Poggiolo in Codiponte, Tuscany Italy
Codiponte's Medieval Bridge...
Dang if it isn’t done.
Something is up whenever one sees un commitato of mostly men in jeans gesticulating, bounding off suddenly to gain perspective on whatever they have been pointing at or, milling about in chat before adjourning to quickly drive off in their white SUV’s.
Soon afterwards, operai arrived and dealt with substituting the ugly white PVC water tube which ran right across the top of the bridge’s parapet. There is now a long iron conduit… in chic Anthracite, A Signature Colour… running inside and just below the parapet. At night, there is an explosion of light from that type of Chinese plastic tube LED lighting popular at Italian beach cabanas and at mercati di Natale. Railings, two ignored do-not-pass-go stanchions… there is always an idiot who will try crossing what to others would definitely be a no-go or, resist the temptation to park un motorino where it is not wanted… and two early 19th Century looking lamp posts installed, again, all in iron painted in the bridge’s Signature Anthracite. Il pezzo di resistenza are the two some-one-has-escaped-from-prison high-intensity spots aimed at the entire Medieval Bridge plus a goodly portion of the village of Codiponte on the other side. Il Poggiolo a prime victim. More so for the poor Swedish Sister’s house at the head of the bridge… capo del ponte = Codiponte… have no choice but to shut themselves inside against the searing hyper-lighting. The Swedish Sisters cannot come to Italy ‘cause Sweden did not go into Lockdown. Swedes are persona non grata in Italy. The Swedish Sister’s are in for a shock. when they can come to what was once their grandparent’s abode.
I have thought to complain to Our Mayor, Sindaco Riccardo about the lighting choice.
Again, like the two neighbour women, who consulted NO ONE regarding the when, how and with what they sought to clean the ramp leading to il Poggiolo, neither had the sindaco,… il comune manager responsible for Codiponte’s Medieval Bridge’s re-conditioning… and his jean clad cohorts thought to even MINIMALLY consult the recipients… WE, THE PEOPLE OF CODIPONTE… about anything to do with the Medieval Bridge’s restoration and especially, the way more than necessary lighting. There was probably enough of a quorum just with the fellows in jeans, damn-it. A closed group. Thank the Good Catholic Lord, THESE POWERS-THAT-BE DID NOT INSTAL SIRENS, BELLS OR WHISTLES. When You experiences the shenanigan of any Italian asshole, his prompt comment is… Che cornuto!!! He applied the same when he took in the result of the non-consultation of Codiponte’s roller-coaster bridge… be be reminded: hardly anyone crosses it, everyone parks their cars/SUV’s/Panda’ on the dirt track below due to the Medieval Bridge’s now confirmed DANGEROUS and variable stone pavements. And, two village women have fallen. Both broke a wrist. One lost teeth and got a healthy gash on her lovely face. To date, You has not yet had the pleasure to take in the Final Touches. I feel assured he will invoke his… Che cornuto!!! If not, I will.
Day 29 Lockdown Codiponte
Day 53 for me.
Weather continues to be outrageously sunny, meaning n’er a cloud, warm, meaning HOT & DRY, and often terrifically windy, meaning NO YARD WORK but to water.
Our lockdown continues and has been extended to April 13th, Easter Weekend. Dottore You said our confinement will be again extended. This bug currently menacing us on a Global level will need several more weeks, if not months to dissipate.
In the meantime, there’s already an obnoxious array of videos on YouTube with advice, suggestions or, recommendations on what & how you can fill all your lockdown time being constructive and not end up on the sofa balancing a bowl of potato-chips on your expanding tummy, sipping from a goblet filled to the brim with a chilly white wine, while struggling through the pitiful offering of movies or TV shows on Netflix…
I REFUSE to do yoga with my pet sheepdog… got no sheepdog, and, Thank God!… calisthenics with a rope and a closet door… I am NOT going to hunt for a rope… or, prop myself up into a horizontally torturous position for 15 minutes… NO WAY, man! I want to be able to get to the sofa afterwards. So much for physical exercise.
On the spiritual side of Life, one can YouTube it with learning Mindfulness while washing your hands to the cadence of Australian vowel sounds, listen to the prognostications of a very nice woman channeling an entity named Abraham, who encourages not to buy into all the Coronavirus hoopla and just think happy thoughts or, follow a former actor and now a professional consciousness coach who, in the video I caught, was sitting on a park bench in Chicago. He spoke of accepting The Now. In his case, his Now was walking on crutches after a hamstring accident. Apparently to him, a metaphor for the Coronavirus opportunity to recognise our Oneness with unbounded Nature. Whatever.
I find the most solace, humour and good-spiritedness in the videos and comical sayings exchanged on WhatsApp with friends & family. I thought I would share some of the fun…
Onwards to other Days!
Pulse on Coronavirus...
Italians still maintain time-honed methods of communication, exchange… gossip. This is due primarily to their tenaciously held customs & habits of where & how they congregate. Despite Our Times and reliance upon our iPhones, laptops and mixing with those adjuncts for news & social media, Italians gravitate to person-to-person contact. Mediterranean. Thank God. The obvious places in Italy are of everyday life… at church, grocery shopping, waiting to see il dottore in his/her/their sala d’aspetto, the mechanic’s!!!, in the post office and, the best and most frequented place by far, is inside a bar. You can stop by, hang out to chat… listen, flipping past headlines in a national newspaper splayed out on a wobbly center-post table. Any Italian village worth its salt must have its bar.
An aside…
salt is an historically heavily taxed item and once was sold only in officially sanctioned shops called tabaccherie. Shows you the ruthlessness of the Italian State insisting that it must have a percentage of an essential commodity for Life & Limb, such as salt. Doesn’t end there either. Anything the State feels the tug of necessity, it socks a tax to pay… beyond salt, on a pack of cigarettes, a car-tag, un bollo to stick on a document, such as una passaporto, to validate its importance… and can be had & paid for at a tabaccheria.
Another aside…
One branch of You-know-who’s extensive family… he sports the last name in his freight train long cognome. Do not ask his names. Many. The Virgin Mary figures somewhere in the middle. It is why I refer to him simply as You, short from the You-know-who… held a monopoly on the sale of salt in Italy for 400 years. Then, in the 1920’s, they moved on to manufacture & export of heavy domestic appliances. Less hassle, more money, I was told many villas and palazzi to keep up, not forgetting the number of members calling themselves, family. OK.
Back to the bar…
genius is if the bar has a tabaccheria on its premises. Fiscal paradise is if you can also play the lotteria while downing un espresso.
Back to congregating…
any issue of interest in the moment is fodder at a bar. Lately, Coronavirus has shoved all else off the counter of conversation. No matter the bar, where, how big or small, spiffy or scuzzy, the impending DOOM of this viral infection is the absolute banter, since Italy shut the country down. Self-imposed quarantine. OK.
Yesterday, a couple I often see in the mornings at my preferred bar, were sitting on stools at the counter with their Pitbull puppy timidly hovering on a rather sparkly feminine leash, talking up the bar-man about the latest on Coronavirus. Exchanging the latest. The local authorities had that very morning shut-down a high school and sent everyone home, because the disinfectant the janitorial staff had used on the facility two days before was deemed insufficiently strong enough to KILL, KILL, KILL the Coronavirus by the ASL. That’s the Italian Health Dept. I WAS ALREADY UP on this tidbit. Got it at the post-office. There, the telephone rang with the news. The new post-mistress relayed the HOT info. I felt special. Ready to confront all else on the topic for the day. The three chatters noticed my entrance temporarily putting a stop to their conversation though only long enough for them to risk enquiring about The American Perspective & Situation with the Coronavirus. I am inured to my show halting presence and, especially, since I am a lone & visible American in these precincts. The singular spokesperson on anything relating to the country of my birth but, no longer my home. I brought them up to date. The virus had hardly entered the US and it mutated. Coronavirus 2? Must’ve been culture shock just off the cruise-ship or, the time difference from Asia. This provoked alarm amongst my bar mates. I braked. Noted before me three faces full of worry, fear… threatened. I sought to calm the waters of my gaffe. It was short-lived. The Master of the Pitbull took the floor… to say he was worn-out by all the broo-ha-ha, no alternative news bites offered by the news media… like, to know what Turkey is up to would be a relief!!!… and, if it was his Destiny to fall prey to the Coronavirus and die, so be it. It’s all written down anyway. Gosh. Already written down? Catholic fatalism. How did I miss that? Must be we Americans do not believe in Destiny. Too deterministic for it. The others nodded in agreement. The pulse was taken. I said Good-bye to all and headed for home.
The couple were again at the bar this morning. I apologised for my statements yesterday. If I haven’t said this…
I like this couple. They are friendly, lively, joking, everyone is a friend. The volume level at the bar rises when they walk in. You are wrapped up by their Good Vibes and carried away. I spend so much of my time alone… the Dog does not count for Human contact & company. The Croesus-person does count for light, enjoyable entertainment, as he exits woods with the part of a tree in his mouth. The bar allows Human contact at an easy distance & involvement.
The Master of the Pitbull brushed it off as unnecessary. How could I think there would be any offence? I was simply telling them what I knew. No problem. The Mistress of the Pitbull spoke up between puffs on a cigarette. She had endured un brutto passaggio a few years back with breast cancer. She was told exactly what she needed to know, she was given everything necessary and all was put into action to confront her personal health crisis. Yes, also painful yet, a simpler, solid, direct episode which, she won thanks to how help came down the pike. But, this Coronavirus? She said the scare tactics… this number of cases, this number of deaths, first and foremost… by the news media and their contradictory voices & information and also from the very source responsible to provide information, services, facilities and procedures to clearly confront a crisis, any crisis, the Italian Government. To her it was missing and certainly not helped by instituting procedures without thinking through their effectiveness, practicality or, the consequences upon the Italian people. To protect yes, but effective to the situation. So far, no. She told me she was worried, scared… threatened. Vuoi un caffe’? More pulse of the People. We all went inside the bar to warm up. Snow was in the air.
P.S…
Since writing the words above and before Save & Publish, the situation has evolved here in the Lunigiana and in our small village of Codiponte. The virus is in our neighborhood. So much for thinking our back-water was safe. One young man in our village has contracted the virus. He is a volunteer at a medical & ambulance service. He had transported a man just off a boat suffering from Coronavirus to a forced quarantine at his home. Two days later the young man fell victim to the virus. There are now others in the Lunigiana. It was Destined to happen.
Rumour has it that hospitals are sending home all non-serious patients, prohibiting only the most urgent operations and other initiatives to liberate the hospitals of beds and facilities to deal with the expected avalanche of Coronavirus victims. We’ll see.
You-know-who suggested I stop frequenting my bar or, any bar. Seems the congenial contact in such localities is just the match of a Coronavirus carrier to others not carrying the dreaded disease. Puppy and I will stick to the woods. Me to photograph, he to seek the perfect stick. Odd in a country like Italian with people like the Italians not to go somewhere to be with folk.