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.
Convalescing...
Archive post November 27, 2019…
…and other belly-aches…
The memories of my recent hip op are fading into oblivion. I hope for ever. 27 days have passed since I was poked, pried, flipped and unconsciously ripped open for the surgical insertion of a spanking, brand new prosthesis for my left hip. The constant, nagging pain & discomfort of resting still, moving about on crutches, turning in my sleep or, submitting to the able ministrations of a competent & professional physical-therapist exists no more. Now, I am presently left with the minor irritations of using a single crutch… how do you rest it against something so it won’t fall?… and making drives of short duration & distance in my ripristinata SUV after extensive mechanical work performed by our Local Mechanic during my absence and costing me a whopping $2,000… I am feeling invigorated with optimism that… Yes!… l will be free and all will have been forgotten. Is there no better sensation to experience?
Maybe but, there are old habits to contenance.
I must confess… the intention of the five-part series I subjected my readership to slugging through was actually to complain & compare the difference between cost and nuisance of health care in America compared to Italy’s, free-enterprise versus a state health system. One You is an active participant. Let me interject…
My Mother’s hip op cost her insurance company… and we are talking of just the preparation to and the subsequent hospital surgery of about $80,000. Mine was supported by the Italian income taxes I have paid to the infamous Italian State… and yes, it can burn in Hell for what it requires… yet, my out-of-pocket expenses came to the minor tune of Euro 272,21 or, $300.72. You risked the comment that my hospital surgery, stay of 6 days plus 10 days in a rehab facility… I was totally right in attempting to arrange an escape… might have cost the infamous Italian state of about Euro 20,000 or, $22,009.10… if that. Sorry. Would you need a hankie?
In the end, the five posts were a blow by blow accounting of my recent trials & tribulations, and which I am actively DELETING the adventure.
Then, DELETING was suddenly suspended. Last night, an acquaintance at an intimate pre-Christmas aperitivo and hosted by a dear mutual English friend innocently asked me about details of my surgery. I was asked because she actually wanted to know, if I had been so lucky to enjoy the latest LESS INVASIVE procedures emanating out of Canada, another country with a once WONDERFUL & PRISTINE state health care system now being slowly skewed… or, do I intend skewered?… by the power & competition & innovation… damn-it… from the profit-motive health care system of the United States of America. I suspect. No, was my reply. The acquaintance said a client of hers had just undergone a hip op with this new and less invasive technique. Bet she didn’t have 13 people with her in the operating theatre. I quickly felt second class. A lesser sort. Deficient. Bereft of the latest opportunities to avoid the barbary of surgery. You thinks I am absolutely ridiculous. I AM NOT!!! Just forward thinking. Cutting people open to dig into a leg bone to insert a titanium thingy resembling a wine bottle stopper IS BARBARIC. And, ridiculous.
So, convalescing in a small though plush mono-locale… plush for all the carpets and comfy furniture & furnishings judiciously selected & purchased by You and, heated by the Joy of a firmly stoked fireplace… cohabitating with two crazed Weimaraners, who cannot be taken elsewhere to run off their neurosis, hobbling about with two then, one crutch, eating quickly prepared meals often burnt… Thank God for cheese & crackers & white wine… and tackling all sorts of mundane tasks on the laptop is, without a doubt, NOT FOR THE WEAK OF HEART!!! And, to add to my Cabin Fever, Nina barks at me for any little tiny thingy she cannot abide by. Oh, let me list them for you…
it’s cold, it’s hot, Croesus is in My Comfy Chair, I want to go out, I want to come in, I want to sleep now on the mattress, I want you to scratch my head, it’s time to eat, it’s time to go out… again, it’s cold outside, it’s time to do my ear, I don’t like it here, why can’t we go for a drive, I want a treat, I want another treat, I want yet another one and now!!!… and so on and so forth.
Croesus, Bless is Thug Heart, is affectionate, obedient, singularly CRAZED for a run in the local wildernesses. I too am CRAZED to run in the local wildernesses to photograph their beauty, and rendered sodden by a month of consistent rain. Everyone is in a bad mood, Thanks to the H2O, or, are under the weather with a cold or, flu. No surprises there.
Friends have stopped by to see how I faire. One brought my laundry nicely folded and a couple of times food!!! Another brought me her Good Company and a wonderful book to read. And the English friend from last night’s aperitivo brought me very dangerous English butter cookies filled with stuff that makes you Joyous with expellations of aires and, an even better book to consume late at night. And one or two brave souls have taken me out to run errands or, for an unburnt meal in a local bistro.
But, Cabin Fever is a plague. Convalescing is not for the weak. I cannot wait for Normal Life to return to my precincts.
The two crazed Weimaraners resting after a hard day of bothering the patient during his forced convalescence at il Poggiolo.