Day 3 Lock-down Codiponte...
Have hardly noticed. I do live in a very back-water place. Leave its confines though and the world is mildly different but not unpleasant. In the meantime…
while a couple of Lombardy provinces outside Milan were shut against the Coronavirus threat, then the entire region of Lombardy was too, quickly followed by the region of il Veneto along with several other provinces from there down to Parma and those few over by the Adriatic coast and down to the city of Pesaro, I was having my own very special health crisis. I thought I had come down with shingles. My general doctor agreed. Gads, I thought…
This and Coronavirus too? Viral over-kill. Better for YouTube. How is this to be bourn? I’ve been good though the last time I went to church was for the Midnight Mass at the Anglican cathedral in Genoa about 20 years ago. So now, what? I’m going to sneeze and wheeze and scratch myself to an early end? Buried with the shame of a rash? Gads.
There came no answer.
Ghastly itching on my head, neck and left arm, headaches often feeling like my cranium was going to explode, gnawing pain on the left side of my neck and a debilitating sense of fatigue. The entire list of symptoms would make themselves felt in waves and, with each new invasion, would become more extreme, more vicious. No rash though, a key element of the herpes zoster virus, AKA, shingles. And another symptom, a later blistering itching on my right hand was out of bounds of the dreaded shingles’ array of symptoms. The virus attacks nerve channels so, rashes, itching and pain fall to one side or the other of the body. The majority I had, but… ? Noting the off-beat indications, Dott. You-know-who, sitting on the longest and nearly completely shot black Chesterfield sofa in the entire world and wrapped in a hat, scarf, sweater and blanket paying court to my complaints and pleas for relief, said… an allergic reaction. So too said a friend in America, whom I had consulted for her vast wealth of medical experience. Digesting the list of symptoms, she emailed back… an allergic reaction. Trudged to my general doctor first thing Monday morning for better meds. I could’ve cared less about a diagnosis. General dottore said I had two things going on… shingles and something else. Oh, OK? However, all I really wanted was… time was a’ wasting… no more itching, no more pain, no more headaches… pleeaaasse! The doctor arranged emergency appointments with a neurologist and a dermatologist, which meant navigating under the decree made last Monday night by the Italian PM and his Council for locking down all of Italy against the Coronavirus threat.
But first, I had to internet over to the Apple-top, consult il Ministero del Interno - Coronavirus website to print off a form and fill it out at the top before leaving my humble abode of il Poggiolo for any of ONLY three permitted outings… by decree… 1) lavoro, 2) grocery shopping and 3) medical appointments/emergencies.
As it turned out, the clinic for the appointments down in the Big Town of Aulla was quite well organised, calm, under control, polite staff with synthetic use-throw-a-way one piece outfits in a weird white, aprons… ???… masks and blue gloves. Chicacosa. And though we, The Patients, had to stay outside and withstand a spray called rain and there’s-snow-in-the-air cold, since only a few people could enter the building at a time, all maintained their composure, their friendliness and their helpfulness to others, many arriving and anxious to know what the new procedure was. All also kept a proper distance from other participants.
The neurologist’s appt. was at 9:00 and the dermatologist was at Noon. VIETATO going to a bar or any place of public gathering in between. Thought of spending time photographing the ONLY statue of Bettino Craxi in Italy, a scandalously corrupt PM in the middle 80’s… the other monuments to his person had been summarily brought down or, BLOWN-UP when he fled to his villa in Tunisia to avoid prosecution for tax fraud, theft, racketeering, graft, etc. Decided not. But then, darned if my Luck wasn’t blowing in my direction. I saw both dottori together. And, within a few minutes of their listening to My Story and me submitting to a physical examination, the collective verdict was unanimous… an allergic reaction. No shingles. A prescription for a new med was slipped to me by a gloved hand and off I drove back to Codiponte past little traffic, few folk walking around, and a nearly empty grocery store. Quiet.
I am very proud of Italy. As my Father would often say… Don’t fight the problem. The Italian Government didn’t. Instead, a seemingly weak PM… burdened with a ridiculous coalition of recalcitrant Italian politicians of many stripes and various low IQ’s… and his Council… a more select group from the same… considered the situation, analyzed the Coronavirus threat, and voted in favour of saving lives and the discomfort of its people despite what will bite even harder… the damage done to the country’s institutions, industries, citizen’s lives and livelihoods… a way of Life. Brave, courageous, compassionate. Hard to have done. Harder to enforce. Hard all the way around. But…
where I live, in Codiponte, Lunigiana, Tuscany, Italy, and the experience outside & inside the clinic in Aulla and later in my favourite grocery store visit to stock up on necessities… white wine and potato chips… I am proud of the Italians too. Sadly, there are always bad apples… prisoners burning mattresses because Visiting Hours were stopped and the absurd disturbances in big city supermarkets to clean the shelves of bottle water… OK, an essential for sure… rubbing alcohol… well, there are safer & better products to use than that but, OK… gel… the silliest of feel good goo of today’s PC hygiene… and…? And…? And toilet paper? I don’t mean to sound like Marie Antoinette but, if they don’t have toilet paper, can’t they use their bidets? They use less precious H2O than showers, guys.
The positive side of the current Coronavirus crisis is we will know pretty well what is needed to be done when a true and real-live KILLER VIRUS hits The World and the forced changes to lives and livelihoods… ie waste not, want not… might be a good thing for our Future, don’t you think? I do. You too?
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.
Not done yet but...
…we are getting close. One half of Codiponte’s piazzetta’s new stone pavement is nearly complete. But look…
Is it not a beautiful expanse of stone, day or night/
Coronavirus in Italy...
Coronavirus, which got its start in Wuhan, China from human contact with an infected animal at a food market in the city, arrived in Italy last week. About 20 other countries had visitations at the same moment. The few Italian cases quadrupled in 24 hours. By mid-weekend, the cases had quadrupled again along with announcements of deaths from the infection. Worrying. The World’s attention turned upon Italy.
The majority were in two outlying provinces of Milan but, not in the city of millions. The Lombardy Region decided to put the two provinces in a lock-down: can’t get in, can’t get out. The World riveted its attention ONLY on Italy. The thinking of the Italian authority was… had the Chinese government sought to contain the virus’s spread from the first cases with a similar lock-down… an easily identifiable strain of the same SARS virus… a global scare of contagion might have been avoided. The attempt to contain the virus’s spread to more populated areas of Northern Italy was much publicised on the TV, radio and Internet. The last went viral.
We now have two rampant and insidious viruses.
One is an illness which threatens primarily… old people, sufferers from lung diseases, individuals pre-disposed to lung illnesses or, those who have issues with their immune systems.
The other is the viral dissemination of mis-information about Coronavirus. Its consequences may destroy people’s livelihoods and well-being, a country’s economy… I’m talking Italy but this applies to any country effected by the Coronavirus effect… and long after the virus has taken its course and petered out.
Coronavirus or, COVID-19, the name of this particular virus is… is a common virus which causes an infection in your sinuses or, upper throat. Symptoms of fever, coughing, sneezing and shortness of breath may occur as the illness develops strength or, descends into the respiratory tract. Deteriorate may lead to pneumonia and possible death.
400,000 people die each year from the flu. So far the death toll from Coronavirus is less about 3,500. If that.
There is no vaccine nor are antibiotics effective. As soon as symptoms are noticed, the best treatments are those for the common cold or, flu: plenty of rest, drink fluids, take aspirin for fever, use disposable tissues for sneezing or, clearing sinuses… don’t forget to wash your hands too… and restrict contact with others until the symptoms pass. Stay calm.
My information comes from my partner of 21 years, You, who is a doctor and a head of the ophthalmology department of a major Italian hospital. He completed his entire medical training at 24 years of age. Residency included, guys. He worked as a general practitioner and surgeon for 5 years before returning to medical school to specialised in ophthalmology treatments and surgery. He has worked for the Italian health scheme and in his own private practise for 40 years. I rest with his experience, knowledge and Good Sense which is what you have just read.
Outside an Italian supermarket…
P.S. China has 5 billion people. 80,000 have been infected by Coronavirus and deaths have been less than 3,000. Do the Math to put all this into perspective, if the Truth of the disease doesn’t work.
P-p-progress...
A bright, brilliantly crip & cold morning in Codiponte last Wednesday. Come on, Dog, let’s hit the road. The Dog might have bashed down the door to la Casetta with his Weimaraner excitement had I not beaten him to such destruction by opening the way… to his Freedom. This semi-deranged canine, one of God’s adored creatures, shot out the open door and down the ramp to il Poggiolo, one of my shoes in his mouth. Have to say, the boy’s fast. Nipped it before I could nip him! Puppy did a dance asking by way of wiggling his Weimaraner butt if, yes, we were really heading to da riva’ and my dirty SUV parked close by. No… Darling Dog, the other way. And up the stone trail he blasted, shoe still gripped in his mouth. I followed with a ready roll of green bio-degradable Emergency Sacks. Unfortunately, the area outside the gate belonging to the neighbor of the ugly-yellow-house, a widening in the trail of stone & weeds leading up to the Borgo of Codiponte and its Castle, seems to have all the necessary ingredients for inspiring donations of bio-waste manufactured by My Dear Dog. I go and retrieve them. A civic duty. And, yes, there’s always more than one pile. Once collected… Scendeee, scendee! And The Croesus-person obeys the order by disappearing down the cut-through to the SUV. Good boy! Done without a leash too.
In my dirty SUV, I turned the corner from da’ riva’ to weave my way up & onwards to Freedom, but found Freedom blocked. The work-guys were unloading a TIR of stone pavers, a ditch-digger sat perched on the flat-bed of another truck with nowhere to go and several white vans were parked behind the flat-bed truck to reinforce the halt towards our eventual w-a-l-k. It was about 9:30AM. Construction Rush-hour. Any earlier though and it’s too darn cold for The Croesus-person to stay outside, even with a lined felted coat on or, allowed to run crazily around nude, so to speak, to generate some h-e-a-t. Oddly enough, the Dog was in idle on his fur on the back seat. I needed to let the ol’ SUV rumble a little longer to warm the engine, hoping it would stop screeching its mechanical aches & pains. So, I got out and walked up to see what was what with Codiponte’s ongoing infrastructure renewal project. What a mess.
One of the work-guys, a big burly & friendly fellow, and perhaps the foreman, came over to chat. He has a later model of my dirty SUV. His was a shiny silver one and clean too. Told me of his pride with a big smile. Having garnered his attention, I sought the latest news. First off, he was part of a new crew. The sixth!!! I feel badly for Crew Numero Cinque. Do not know though I do suspect the previous crew were sent elsewhere for their Big Ooops. Hard to fire folk in Italy. I would have fired the puff-jacketed jeans-cladded Culture-police fellows. They do not know how to manage, much less manage a construction project. Probably because it’s not on a computer screen in an office in grim Massa-Carrara, HQ for our Italian province. All they know how to do, and I have seen this first hand… I like to spy from il Poggiolo’s innumerable & elevated views… is to arrive, point a lot, and then leave. Pointing is not management. It’s only fingering.
My new found friend confirmed what I had heard from a neighbour days before about the problem of building a proper slope for water run-off but, and again explained with a smile of pride, the new crew faced the difficulty with the old water & drainage pipes not laid deep enough to allow the new paver’s height to clear the thresholds of the houses and ex-stores on Codiponte’s piazzetta. By the looks of the herd of trucks & vans, and the comings & goings of the other four work-guys, Progress was being made and with new techniques & construction methods. All the old cement dug up, new gravel cushion was spread and iron lattices placed on top to create a new concrete base to be poured followed by the new pavers. Somewhere underneath all that were new drainage & water tubes. Enough Progress to calm the agitated citizens of Codiponte. Yet, what with the nice weather, most are in their orti, vignetti e frutteti occupied with Spring pruning & clearance. Might be a good idea for me to start that assault.
Doesn’t the via Comunale look spiffy? And, yes, does seem to be a cloudy day outside but, the sun had not risen above the hills behind Codiponte at that hour of the morning.
Ooops...
There was a problem. If you know something about drainage, you’ll immediately see the situation in the left-hand photograph.
Ooops!
I thought it was curious to see the five work-guys, the usual but rarely seen three jeans-and-puffed-jackets-clad of the Culture Police and many male residents of Codiponte gathered at a quarter till 8 last Monday morning, hovering over the newly laid pavers of the piazzetta. I was in my smelling-of-Weimaraner SUV with The Croesus-person in attendance on his furry stole on the back seat heading out for Our Morning Constitutional. The Dog was not interested with the goings-on out on the piazzetta. No. He was focused upon eventually running wild with a new stick at any of our preferred spots for such shenanigans, as I paused the car to take a look, mull-over the reason for the crowd before continuing on our way. I was hoping to take some interesting photographs followed by an optimal cappuccino at my favorite bar.
All happened.
The next thing I knew, and on the day after, the crew had brought in a teal painted machine… a HUGE jack-hammer… to break-up the newly laid pavers plus all the cement pavement underneath and that too from the part of the piazzetta not yet covered with new pavers.
Gosh… what’s happened?
I found out later that same day, when I encountered a neighbor walking to his car parked out on the Casciana New Bridge with his small son. He lives just off the piazzetta. I thought he would be a good source for the latest information. He was. Said the citizens had called in the C.P. when they discovered rainwater would run directly into the alimentare shop off the piazzetta AND that the new pavement, as laid, would end up being too high for many of the thresholds to their houses & stores on Codiponte’s piazzetta. The later long since transformed into storage lockers or, to stack firewood.
By the way, folk here have returned enthusiastically to burning wood in their fireplaces & stoves rather than not or, using pellets. Costs less, creates a good heat and smells better.
My neighbor went on to say that the work-guys should have originally dugged up all the cement on the the one store, and instead, direct it to the stream… ex-open sewer… running along the piazzetta.
And so, the five work-guys and their enormous teal jack-hammer machine have set to work. Thought you might enjoy knowing the travails. Yet, another chapter to Our Continuing Infrastructure Renewal Projects Story. Fascinating, no?
P.S. I have this fantasy… since the Culture Police blew it do badly with the citizenry of Codiponte over the reconstruction of the Medieval Bridge, turning it into an un-fun roller-coaster, the jeans-and-puffed-jacketed C.P. fellows hopped on immediately to resolve the botched piazzetta with the order to tear up all the cement and get the drainage slope right before laying again the stone pavers, thus, avoiding making a brutta figura, the Italian bureaucrat’s pre-occupation Numero Uno!
Pavement progress...
The march of Progress runs unabated here in Codiponte. We’re on a proverbial roll for civic improvements. No sooner had Epiphany… La Befana to Italians… come & gone, putting a close to the tortuously long Italian Holiday Season, the latest work-crew… there have been five separate squads of work-guys from the start of our infrastructure renewal program begun with the Medieval Bridge last May of 2019… embarked upon the task to pull up the cement as prep for our village’s piazzetta and its brand new stone pavement. Will wonders never cease? Certainly not! Promptly at 8:00AM, five work-guys arrive, jackhammers at the ready, for their daily eight-hour stint, and they consistently do so from Monday until Friday, to render Codiponte’s as charming as possible for generations to come with brand new stone pavers.
Imagine… in the short span of a few Wintery weeks, your journey to Codiponte may begin by crossing the completely reconstructed Medieval Bridge, today revealed to be a roller-coaster of stone arches bouncing over the Torrente Aulella. The Medieval Bridge’s span ends adjacent to the once-upon-a-time Pay-the-toll window. A Gothic cornice is all which remains at the former Guard House, today, a complex of three apartments belonging to three sisters from Sweden. Their parents immigrated North where there was available work after WWII. At this point, via Comunale, sporting its new stone pavement… and with a nifty center-line of mini-pavers… curves underneath loggias and tunnels on its way to Codiponte’s piazzetta, the old hub of the village. The wide expanse of what will be a newly refurbished piazzetta will encompass the space from the low wall of the stream racing water to the Torrente Aulella… a former open sewer… the four sycamore trees, the quiet sentinels of the Monument to the Fallen in WWI and the eternal…. we hope… fontanella still trickling water despite numersous modifications done to the piazzetta’s plumbing & drainage. The marble tub is a convenient location to wash one’s hands after having pried a disgusting bone from the clamped jaws of a rather persistent & single-minded Weimaraner puppy. Plans will also include new benches and lighting. Hey! That’s Progress.
The piazzetta has notoriously served as a parking lot for a few fortunate citizens of Codiponte. A tacit arrangement for the privilege of convenience. I am not a member of the illustrious club though You & I are the owners of the largest property of houses & gardens in Codiponte. Ought to count for something, don’t you think? Nope. It is frowned upon when, on the rare occasion, I park my SUV on the piazzetta. To holler that there was a space available holds no weight. And, it is a hard topic to broach with any of my fellow citizens about NOT returning the piazzetta to its previous life as a micro-comunal parking lot. What with the new stone pavement, the weight of even a FIAT Panda might shatter or, break the newly laid stone pavers. My uncounted Vote is to enjoy the piazzetta as a civic space for all, and not spaces for the few. I can adapt and go elsewhere to park.
So, NO PARKING. But does anyone read here? A sign has been posted at an appropriate spot. Typically, people once in the habit of racing to their parking space on the piazzetta now run screeching into a temporary fence, baring their entry onto the present work-site. They were WARNED! Means they have to manoeuvre their vehicles back to the New Bridge only 100 meters down the same lane they just tore down. Or, as an Option B… which is not often offered in Italy… they can make the turn onto the ramp leading down to the river to park their FIATS next to the grotty trash recycling area. I’d take the exceptional occurrence of an Option C continue to the right and along the dirt track following the torrente There’s ample parking below the Swede’s houses and with cut-throughs to the via Comunale and home! Many have already taken over this track to park since, the Medieval Bridge became a Luna Park.
Dog spots...
Sad news…
Our Dear Weimaraner, Nina-beena, passed away during the night of January 12th after a short battle with a tumor. Back in June of last year, I carried Nina-beena to Our Vet, Vittorio, as she was descending into coma. He immediately set to revive and stabilize her. Then, an MRI exam proved small nodules… tiny tumors… were rife throughout her stomach cavity. This was a horrifying repeat with Our First Weimaraner, Moses. We had to put him to sleep in the Fall of 2016. Did you know dogs can suffer dementia, Alzheimer’s? Yep, they can. And the later was what was going to do a lot of harm to Our Dear Moses. His diseased brain would forget to pump the heart and lungs. Our Vet alerted me to the fact that animals… and people too… do not die directly from tumors. Death comes from other causes. For Dear, Sweet, Beautiful, Nina-beena, died of a heart-attack while sleeping.
I buried her Monday morning on the Scenic Overlook in the garden of il Poggiolo, right next to her brother, Moses. Those two canine accomplices will have an eternally fantastic view of the Commie House or, at least until the Commie place slides down the mount after a hard bout of rain or, persons who have bought il Poggiolo out from Our Old Age decide to put in a swimming pool on that very Dog Spot. There’s a surprise awaiting them. Bones and IKEA micro-fiber blankets. Nina-beena and Moses are in hallowed ground. It’s where both liked to sunbathe while I assaulted the garden. (That verb is not mine but, You’s. I prefer gardening.)
The Dogs had other special spots, inside and out. Il Poggiolo, its three residences and the terraced garden, is defined by their habits, pleasures… and disgraces. Layered on top or, neighboring to those of the Human Beings who pass through the gates of Il Poggiolo.
In my current grief, I took a short photographic tour of Dog Spots at il Poggiolo. The Two Deceased Dog’s conspicuous absence was noted…
You & I bought a Weimaraner puppy… strangely enough from a woman who lives around the corner from Codiponte in Equi Terme… at Christmas 2017 to keep Nina-beena company. Croesus…. AKA The Croesus-person (yes, a mouthful but simple Croesus is nearly impossible for folk to A) remember or B) pronounce) or, Puppy… turned out to be quite more than the elixir we had imagined for Our Little GIrl. But, he adored his older sister. The Croesus-person is now grieving too though he witnessed Nina-beena’s death & burial LIVE. Hard for him to understand why she did not growl or, nip at him as he played with Nina-beena’s paw as she laid in the cart. He keeps his lone vigil in a spot he shares with his canine brethren. Bless him.
The Croesus-person on the long black sofa in la Casetta, a dog spot enjoyed by one and all.
Darkness or light...
I was the victim to my own shocking thought the other evening…
I was sitting on the long, black sofa in the upstairs Salotto of La Casetta here at il Poggiolo… a nice fire going in the glass fronted firebox, a glass of white wine on the table beside me, reading my book on Italian literature…
written by an Englishman, of all folk. The author’s claims to fame are: he married an Italian woman, he became versed in the Italian language to the point that he has gainfully translated several Italian authors into English. This last feat is not an easy trick. Much Italian literature is written in the country’s many dialects. I tried once. Spiked by my acquired ability to speak & read Italian, I felt ready to graduate from reading Agatha Christie translated into Italian to an attempt to follow a boy-friend’s avid recommendation of tackling a novel written by Pier Paolo Pasolini, the multi-talented titan of post-WWII Italian culture. The boy-friend thought I might enjoy a look into the life of a certain strata of Italian society in the 50’s & 60’s suburban boom towns north of Rome’s la Stazione Termini. Total gobbledygook. Gave up on page 17. Have never encountered so many single apostrophes in my life. I went back to Agatha Christie. Worse still, I followed by setting a steady course for English books.
In the relative Peace & Quiet of my Second Floor refuge, I heard a loud and unfamiliar noise somewhere outside the house. Stopped, put the book down, got up and walked over to the Salotto’s singular window to peer out to see what the noise could be.
Not the best of views. The lone window looks out towards the Northeast and a nearby mountain missing trees and sprouting a bunch of electro-smog communications aerials, masts and antennas. Eons ago the mountain lost part of itself after torrential rains provoked a massive mudslide. In one devastating slosh, the the pre-Medieval village of Codiponte was gone. Those few who survived the catastrophe wisely re-located the new Codiponte to a hill on the other side of the Aulella River, far away from the path of any future disasters from an insecure peak or, two. The hill town is today called il Borgo Castello. It lurches over us at il Poggiolo, blocks the sun and keeps our garden soggy with Winter’s moisture. In the Summer, the conglomeration of stone buildings helps not a bit to block the steady rays of Signor Sunshine. Ahime’.
Saw nothing below or, beyond. Feeling investigative, I went to the Master Bedroom which, sports two windows. The views from them are akin to a modest control tower, surveying the main drag of via Comunale directly below la Casetta, the Aulella River, the houses on the other side of the river… built in a flood plain!!!… and the rest of the urban sprawl of Codiponte in a row of buildings along the SP 445. One is the Scuzzy Bar. And from there, the 225 degrees of panorama from my exceptional vantage point was sabotaged by the infamous presence of the Commie House. I am responsible for the term. The administration who called forth said edifice to be a reality was Communist. Ah, those heady days now long gone. When Men… and Women too… were either Commies, Socialists, Democratic-Christians, Liberals, Republicans… Cars & Drivers. Yep, Cars & Drivers were politics. The Commie House is Codiponte’s ode to public housing and a fair example… if the gossip has any merit… of how political and local governmental corruption, graft & fraud can create what should not have been create… ever!!! And the same citizens & officials rant about building abuse. Ahime’.
A hateful and stupid edifice. Beside interrupting nine out of ten photographs of mine taken from il Poggiolo’s Scenic Overlook, its dominant position is like a scourge, its cement stepped architecture appalling and further more, the incomprehensible pride of its renters!!!… yes, renters!!!… EACH AND EVERYONE OF THEM owners of empty though still lovely stone houses in the main village of Codiponte… the eight apartments share a bizarre interior arrangement…
the living areas… Entrance, Salotto, Dining & Kitchen and Bathroom… have only 1 window right next to the front door and aimed at nothing in particular. Perhaps, only to see someone arrive before smashing il campanello. Instead, the sleeping areas of two ample bedrooms have large plate-glass windows pointed at The View… the Apuane Peaks… and broadsided, when shining, by a Southerly sunshine. Ahime’.
My American sensibilities are… light is for living, dark is for sleeping. The Commie House smacks the opposite. Why weren’t the areas reversed? My hunch is various circumstances corralled the choice to erect a kind of high-rise against the mountain. The original scheme was an expensive row house complex of twelve apartments chucked for budgetary and construction restraints, oddly enough. The later was an unresolved fear of the risks should the long foundation skew radically towards collapse from mudslides and/or earthquakes. The steep landscape of the property and to facilitate the installation of the utilities… fireplace, plumbing and gas kicked in too.
I really do think the renters could have cared less. They has a spanky new home in a modern building and its dark living areas were paar for the course with the since abandoned stone houses in town. It was all they knew but they much else to their liking… of dark interiors correlating to warmth & coziness… and less expense. Light posed the threat of heat in the Summer and cold in the Winter.
While huffing & puffing about the architectural arrangements over at the Commie House, I had utterly forgotten my own struggles with modernising to our contemporary… and my American… tastes & habits with il Poggiolo’s three residences… la Casetta, la Casa Grande and l’Appartamento Azzurro… to bring light and modern conveniences to their interior precincts. To be brief, I too was bounded by the same circumstances and not too alien to those of the Commie House. Or, how the old stones were laid won. Then, there is the undeniable fact… damn-it… that il Poggiolo too steps up its hill of grass, statue strewn, flowering plants terraces.
For instance…
l’Appartamento Azzurro was the residence for the farmers who had rented il Poggiolo for generations. It was the classic living & sleeping quarters above the animal stalls. A pitched roof against the rain and not in the direction of the sun, minimally three windows and two solid doors. Only the windows brought light. The floor plan was simple. An exercise of three rooms and a loft…
on the right from the front door was the kitchen anchored by an enormous, nearly lived-in fireplace and a small alcove for a sink. Water peed through a hole into the garden. Room enough for a table, some stools and perhaps, even a bed for i nonni. The single window brought the morning’s sunshine but, only once it had clamoured above il Borgo Castello above. To the left of the front door was a large open room with the loft above. More beds, I suppose. The last generation to inhabit l’Appartmento Azzurro were seven children. I know them all. Brought to light in this last room. At its Western end towards il Poggiolo’s courtyard below was another window. It let in an afternoon light and the Summer’s heat too radiating off the stones of the courtyard. Ditto when turning the corner and into another room, a bedroom, and again, only a single window to the courtyard. Beyond was a terrace. Not for sunbathing or, apertivi but, for hanging out the wash. What with seven kids. Ahime’.
You & I wanted to improve on this layout and especially to install a modern bathroom. The outhouse was down on the courtyard. Terrifically inconvenient anyway yet, more so in the rain, wind and cold of night. We also hoped to work-in a second bedroom. Could… not… wing… it. A frustrating puzzle game with no acceptable and new answer. For one reason or another. The only reasonable solution was to give into the original plan. I can admit to some relief that You & I left this vestige from il Poggiolo’s past as is. And so, the Birthing Bedroom has the light and the open space has the dark but, the dark also has lovely cathedral ceilings and a chimney flue, which splendidly heats the open space and loft. You’s refuge on visits in the Winter. And there’s more… though darkness reigns, warmth in the Winter and cool in the Summer rules.
The same darn exercise occurred with la Casetta. Happy to say… nothing beats a fire blazing, rain beating on the Salotto’s roof beyond its interior cathedral ceilings and only the small reminder of the brutto tempo outside through the single window.
Guess I better shut up or, eat my hat about the Commie House. Darn it. Hate it. Love mine!
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.
Frosty time of the year...
Lo’ and behold, the day & night temperatures suddenly dropped the day after Christmas. Hark! The 25th was a Yuletide scorcher of 70F degrees at 1:30PM. I know for a fact because, I was out on our loft’s balcony in Genoa with my sister-in-law-who-smokes and the pharmacy’s electric sign-board sent speeding across it in Bright Green the afternoon’s current temp. Hark, again! Everyone else was inside gorging themselves on my 4-day-in-the-making Christmas Day dinner of focaccia, an exquisite salmon torta, an artichoke soup which, I must say turned out quite well after the crisis in discovering the recipe I was following was WRONG!!! If you boil or, steam the artichokes, you do not have to sauté them too. Plus, no call for an onion and some sort of meaty fat which, I feel are always necessary for a hearty soup. This despite the au courant of avoiding meaty fats these days. Perhaps, Julia Child would back me up on this, I would hope… followed by a delicately spicy shrimp & sausages pasta, a roast turkey from the best butcher in all of Genoa, Mario’s, Brussels sprouts braised with butter & prosciutto…. Euw, ick, Brussels sprouts but, they were the only vegetable available in sufficient quantities at my green-grocer’s… an abundant potato puree popped under the broiler for a stunning cap of a golden brown cheese crust, and for dessert, an exaggerated array of pane-this-and-that… panettone, pandolce, panedoro, paneforte… and chocolates, chocolates, chocolates, and nuts, nuts, nuts and clementines, and clementines, clementines, clementines, the Christmas fruit of Italy. The Italians do-up wreaths with them and bay leaf branches. Very festive. This abundant gastronomic buffet preceded the annual photo sessions of the family with la nonna and, the sensational display of modern Christmas consumerism for our five nieces to open sacks full of geeefts from their uncle You. I had to have a sit-down in my post-Modern wing-back chair sipping from a tall glass of white wine to observe the commotion and enthusiasm… Oh, zio! Che bella!! Grazie!!!
But now, back to the today’s temps…
The drop in temperature added to l’aria asciutta was a definite change of pace to the warm temperatures and the constant rains & humidity of October, November & half of December. The Dogs now insist upon waking me up in the middle of the night… Shhh! Not a word to You, who is absolutely opposed to this canine custom… they sleep with me under the covers ‘cause it’s c-c-cold… to vie with one another on who gets to be closest to me. I am the in-bed furnace, apparently. What a joy! I then take advantage of being awaken to untangle myself from them and the layers of bed clothes… heavy Sardinian wool bedspread, down comforter, blue wool blanket and my fake fur stole and hobble into the bathroom to pee. While aiming, I unlatch the interior shutters of the bathroom’s single window and gaze out upon the roofs of Codiponte, all frosty white below an indigo starry night sky. Beautifully eerie and quiet.
The morning has the same scene though lighted by a timid sunshine yet to creep up and over the Borgo Castello of Codiponte above us at il Poggiolo. Our garden has many guises through the year but, I do find its Winter one the more charming. I took a quick tour of the garden this AM… in running shorts with a T and track-shoes… outside the Azzurro Apartment where I am camping out with said Dogs, who, by the way, ABSOLUTELY REFUSED TO LEAVE THE COMFORT OF THEIR CLUB CHAIRS before the warmth of the fire. I had to go it alone in the chill, the quiet and the frost.
Paving towards the piazzetta...
As mentioned in a previous blog post, the threat of continuing with new public works projects in Codiponte proceeds apace with a new stone pavement running from the recently renovated Medieval Bridge… the natives are still quite restless about the stone roller-caster still and perhaps more so since the Culture Police AND City Hall, ie il Comune, rejected the citizen’s petition… to the village’s cement crappy piazzetta. It has not been easy. On everyone…
basically, it has rained nearly non-stop and, when not, the concomitant cloud cover keeps everything pretty darn wet & slippery and all this since my hip op of the 22nd of October. Today’s date is the 17th of December! Someone can do the Math. Keeps the work-guys off the job until, on the rare occasion, there’s NO RAIN. About two days for every five days of deluges. Undaunted, progress has been noted. From the newly renovated Medieval Bridge to the dark archway before Codiponte’s piazzetta, the village’s epicentre, now courses a new ardesia stone pavement. Alternating sized stone pavers span between the confines of the once-upon-a-time single thorough-faire in Codiponte. There is even a center stone strip to relieve the boredom of the spiffy pavement. Or, it might just be a necessary visual guide, so folk won’t tend to go askew. Old people mostly. Oh, and one lone American with a crutch.
None of this was I aware of until I gladly returned home to il Poggiolo and the upstairs, one level, Appartamento Azzurro, to recuperate from the rigours of my hip replacement surgery and, most especially, from the bureaucratic Rules & Regulations of two weeks in the hospital and Don Gnocchi rehab center…
I hate socks. Never use them. And, at home, I go barefoot. Nor am I keen on those Nike slippers with a single strap across the foot. Grotesque fashion with white orthopedic socks on. Smacks of those folk in distant Eastern European countries or, wanna-be European countries. Not my style. I just continued in rehab what I am always used to doing and got verbally smacked by a nasty, greasy haired, leaning on the wall, little bureaucratic doctor in the wee-hours, caught going to the bathroom slipper and sockless…
The local construction noise and confusion roared up to y my quarters and is worse than the above indignities or, if I may add? Much worse than being poked & pried for blood at 5:30AM and by other health care atrocities. Jack-hammers, mini-bull-dozers, other heavy equipment & machinery and lots of men… MEN… screaming commands at each other in dialect starting at 7:30AM. How could anyone sleep, think, enjoy a quiet morning moment with a caffe’? Peace & Tranquility reigns for barely an hour at Noon for the whole din to begin again until Quittin’ Time at sunset. I later heard a few residents of Codiponte had fled to their children’s abodes in sister towns & cities to avoid the racket and mess.
Then, the work-guys started playing with the utilities. Logically so. Rip up what’s underneath and for sure, it is time to install new water mains and sewers. NO WATER for 8 hours. And, with new pavement comes new street lighting. Huge mock-19th Century lanterns dangling off cast iron arms. So, of course, the electrical lines above were re-strung & reinforced to handle the extra current. NO ELECTRICITY for 8 hours… twice! With each and everyone of these shut-downs, il Poggiolo rebelled. Water heater in la Casetta when on the Fritz. NO WATER. NO ELECTRICITY. Took 10 days to have a service representative restore it to health. Other parts of our complex suddenly would loose the juice too. Several times where the Dogs & I are staying. Can freak you out to have NO ELECTRiCITY when Nature calls… at 2:12AM. And You in TOTAL DARKNESS the night afterwards down in his Kingdom. We will ride it out.
I would say that in two week’s time, the via Comunale will be completed. Leaves the piazzetta to be refurbished with the same new covering of ardesia stone. Should hopefully bring some much needed Dignity to the WWI Monument to the Fallen tucked underneath the three sycamores along the banks of the villages stream… the village’s once-upon-a-time sewer. Glad I missed that.
Luci natalizie... Christmas lights
The decorated Entry Arch to il Borgo del Castello in Codiponte, Tuscany Italy for Christmas 2019.
Sorry for the electrical line in the photo. These days, it is nearly impossible to take a pic in Codiponte and not have some obstruction or, annoyance, impair the shot. Electric and telephone lines are a specialty in our parts. This could be applied to the rest of Italy too… Rome, Naples, Genoa… and even in Apuglia too. However, that booted region is keen on garbage strewn on scenic roads or, beaches. I bet the Tourist Bureau light candles to the inventor of Photo-shop to eliminate the trash from the photos posted to the region’s tourist websites of panoramic locales. Ahime’.
We are nearing Christmas. I took the Dogs on a SUV tour the other night to take photos of the few Christmas lights up and flashing in Codiponte for this blog and for your entertainment too. The two Weimaraners were enthusiastic to go, thinking there would be a subsequent w-a-l-k. There was though abbreviated, thanks to all the folk filling up their plastic bottles at the water kiosk next door to Codiponte’s cemetery… an ideal spot for sniffing & running. I am now obligated to have my canines under control of a leash. No deal. Not with trying to recover from hip surgery. Packed the dear creatures in the SUV and off we sped. Nina and Croesus got extra Here-is-your-mighty-reward treats, once back in the comfort of our home at il Poggiolo.
Seems the Codiponte Christmas Light Program is to, at least, dangle a representative string of lights attached to some architectural element of house, store or bar. The Scuzzy Bar has a shooting star off its T-sign. T for tabacco. None are near the way, way, way-over-the-top Yuletide shenanigans seen in America and Canada. I remember going with friends in their white late-model Cadillac to tour the neighourhoods in Atlanta, Georgia noted for their Christmas decorations. LED has transformed the custom into incredible heights of creativity… of light, form and color for the Santa Klaus, Rudolphs and, of course, the ubiquitous & numerous Christmas Trees…. obviously. It’s Christmas. Those two countries have cheap utilities, thanks to their massive oil reserves. Italy has ZERO oil, and thus, its utilities are expensive and made more so by its sales tax… Iva… think VAT and at whopping 22%!!!
The only exception to the minimum light show is Codiponte’s Local Mechanic’s well thought out installation. Rudolph keeping guard in the middle of the Local Mechanic’s recently installed grassy lawn with a lone palm tree but… Povero Rudolfo… is cordoned off with a long swag of lights to stay his escape.
Sorry. None of my photos came out. Taking a photo at night with the flash results in A) an extreme white out of everything within the vicinity of the iPhone in a kind of nuclear bomb explosion and B) the object of the shot in the distance is still dim or, out of focus. Must learn to use a normal and manual photographic camera. A forthcoming New Year’s resolution.
The norm for installazione delle luci natalizie is what the three families living up at il Borgo del Castello managed over the arched Entrance to their hill-top perch. I rather like the simplicity of the single strand and its modest array of colored bulbs used… yellow, orange, light green and red. Endearing. Innocent. Humane… like they didn’t need a crane or, paid crew to do it. Just themselves. The lights do not flash either. Lampeggiande luci is like a disease with the cheap Chinese imports… the word bulb does not apply to their manufacture… found at the local ferramente. The hardware store in Gragnola, the town below Codiponte, had a long table dedicated to all things useful or, not for Natale. Tons of various flashing LED pin lights to run along a railing or, over a door. In the meantime, as I took a gander of the selections, synthetic snow in a spray can tempted me. Then, I thought Greta Thunberg. The idea died on the table.
Buona Feste!
The bridge still unfinished...
I had thought that when I came back home to Codiponte from two weeks in the hospital and rehab after my left hip op, the work on the Medieval bridge would be way, way finished. Nope.
What continues to disturb…
the large blue and black corrugated plastic tubes sprouting like an art project or, a visual social commentary at the junction of two low walls which will be part of the scenic overlook adjacent to the Medieval bridge’s parking area. A new light pole has been erected to carry the electrical cables strung across the Aulella River to the central part of the Codiponte. The old pylon will be eventually be dismantled and carried off. We hope. Right now it looks like a forlorn relic. And, nothing has been accomplished to resolve the dangerous part of the bridge’s pavement. There have been accidents, sudden falls, scrapes, etc. Apparently, the Madonnina can do nothing to help. He hands are tied holding the Baby Jesus? In thanks for the new coat of stucco inside & out of Her niche and the new set of steps up to lay flowers or, place one of those Brico Centre red votive candles. One is a fake and instead, has a battery to keep the light going 24/7, its flicker an unconscious warning, perhaps?
Takes me a good 10+ minutes to cross the bridge on crutches. Morning & afternoon exercises. Would be bad enough on two legs, but with four, well, it’s a very slow & perilous go. The upside of this journey is I meet other villagers attempting the crossing too. A slow go for them. We meet and suddenly, we have a quorum to complain and belly-ache about the idiocy of carrying the bridge to this deplorable state, i.e. the appallingly iffy pavement and the roller-coaster arches doubling one’s efforts to be safe. After venting, someone shares news of the more recent disgrazie of some unfortunate citizen’s encounter with the Medieval bridge.
I have since run into other gossip circulating Codiponte that the Culture Police… La Sopra-intendenza dei Beni Culturali… insisted upon rigorously respecting the Medieval aspects in the bridge’s reconstruction barring any concession to modern conveniences… ape-scooters, baby carriages, grocery strollers… or, needs of the local populace. The median age here is over 50 years of age. And I know most folk over the age of 70 use canes. More instability than two crutches. Yet, there’s a nice number of kids under the age of 7 years, which should have been factored in. Nope.
My late-breaking impression is the majority of Codipontesi are very unhappy. We shall see how all this pans out. I just hope I don’t crash & burn in a tangle of me and my crutches.
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.
Still unfinished...
Archive post November 14, 2019…
I had thought that when I came back home to Codiponte from two weeks in the hospital and rehab after my left hip op, the work on the Medieval bridge would be way, way finished. Nope.
What continues to disturb…
the large blue and black corrugated plastic tubes sprouting like an art project or, a visual social commentary at the junction of two low walls which will be part of the scenic overlook adjacent to the Medieval bridge’s parking area. A new light pole has been erected to carry the electrical cables strung across the Aulella River to the central part of the Codiponte. The old pylon will be eventually be dismantled and carried off. We hope. Right now it looks like a forlorn relic. And, nothing has been accomplished to resolve the dangerous part of the bridge’s pavement. There have been accidents, sudden falls, scrapes, etc. Apparently, the Madonnina can do nothing to help. He hands are tied holding the Baby Jesus? In thanks for the new coat of stucco inside & out of Her niche and the new set of steps up to lay flowers or, place one of those Brico Centre red votive candles. One is a fake and instead, has a battery to keep the light going 24/7, its flicker an unconscious warning, perhaps?
Takes me a good 10+ minutes to cross the bridge on crutches. Morning & afternoon exercises. Would be bad enough on two legs, but with four, well, it’s a very slow & perilous go. The upside of this journey is I meet other villagers attempting the crossing too. A slow go for them. We meet and suddenly, we have a quorum to complain and belly-ache about the idiocy of carrying the bridge to this deplorable state, i.e. the appallingly iffy pavement and the roller-coaster arches doubling one’s efforts to be safe. After venting, someone shares news of the more recent disgrazie of some unfortunate citizen’s encounter with the Medieval bridge.
I have since run into other gossip circulating Codiponte that the Culture Police… La Sopra-intendenza dei Beni Culturali… insisted upon rigorously respecting the Medieval aspects in the bridge’s reconstruction barring any concession to modern conveniences… ape-scooters, baby carriages, grocery strollers… or, needs of the local populace. The median age here is over 50 years of age. And I know most folk over the age of 70 use canes. More instability than two crutches. Yet, there’s a nice number of kids under the age of 7 years, which should have been factored in. Nope.
My late-breaking impression is the majority of Codipontesi are very unhappy. We shall see how all this pans out. I just hope I don’t crash & burn in a tangle of me and my crutches.
Health care in Italy: Part 5...
Archive post November 11, 2019…
I have a new left hip.
The worst is behind me. I was thoroughly tested. The pre-op anxiety, the post-op pain & discomfort and authoritarianism of rehab were difficult to bear. They were all constant reminders of why I had ardently avoided the operation for 5 years. However, that stance is short-sighted. I have much to gain, like walking upright without pain or, lower back wobble. Let’s hope, OK?
I am now happily installed in the Apt. Azzurro at il Poggiolo with a lovely fireplace blazing away, several good books, my laptop and two very crazed Weimaraners. No w-a-l-k-s drives them to annoyance. The constant rains for the last 10 days have not helped either but, gives me a ready-made excuse for an afternoon nap. Dogs permitting. If allowed, what a treat. I am living off home-made soups, quick pasta’s, chef’s salads and scrambled eggs. My appetite has returned. Cannot shake the desire for pancakes with maple syrup or a MacDonald’s Double Cheeseburger. Calories are saved since I cannot drive yet. I will not starve or die of thirst. Certainly not thirst. You loaded up on wine.
Crutches furnished by my dear English friends here in Codiponte are paar for the course. Unfortunately, the Apt. Azzurro is an obstacle course of furniture, the Dog’s mattress, carpets, short hallways, tight corners. I can often forego the crutches and just crawl along holding onto counters, chair-backs and walls but…. shhh!!! Don’t tell anyone… I’m not suppose to that. Must be upright.
I have to wear stockings to avoid unwanted trombosis. They stink. I cannot take them off. Too hard to get back on. And they make washing beyond a sponge bath impossible. So, I stink somewhat too. The first thing I would like to do, when permitted, will be a long hot shower. Not until the staples are out.
I have to give myself a shot every evening at 5PM. An anti-coagulant. The idea is far worse than actually doing it. How lovely, two options… pick a shoulder or, tummy. Luckily, I still have an abundant tummy. Dott. You taught me a trick… lightly dab the selected area with disinfectant, quickly slap the spot, then poke the syringe pushing the plunger of medicine into your flesh… yeah, a bit disconcerting to say… and you will hardly notice even a pin-prick of pain or, discomfort. More fun when You does it. Makes me laugh. He’s not around.
My immediate post-hip op situation briefly updated.
Previously, I was not much in the mood to post and certainly not during my two week’s stay in hospital & rehab. All too fresh, too raw… a nightmare… to write in Real Time of struggles with severe pain & discomfort, the insistent Rules & Regulations… Signore! Before you even think to touch the floor YOU MUST HAVE your slippers on… the absolute dominion of the nurses, and I can tell you, they rule for better or, for worse. A kind of boot camp… and the tasteless & dull food. Food may not be the appropriate term for what was served, in my opinion. Always a relentless potato puree and a baked apple served with UFO’s posing as chicken, beef or, fish. A couple of times a delightful roast chicken breast or, the 1950’s American feel-good of fish-sticks would be found hiding under a plastic plate’s cover, a happy spoiler to the typically unappetizing bill-of-fair. Lost 7 lbs.
Before I ever got to the hospital…
the pre-op anxiety built its momentum in the days after the call from the Capo Sala. Dealing with fantoms of worry and logistics. Errands to provide enough water, food, clean clothes, toilet articles for my return to the Apt. Azzurro… importantly, a residence all on one level… at il Poggiolo from rehab. Bed made? Dogs set up? Had to drive to Sarzana to buy dog food since, the store in Aulla was, typically, out of Nina’s & Croesus’ dog food. That chewed up an entire morning. Stress. Apt. Azzurro cleaned & organized? Water heater checked so You could have a secure h-e-a-t during his Tour-of-duty as Florenz Nightengale, while I’d be flat on my back in a hospital bed. La Casa Grande cleaned & sorted for its Winter hibernation? Bills were paid, cash pulled for You’s travel & food expenses plus mine to cover my three week convalescence at il Poggiolo. Bag packed for the hospital with slippers, athletic pants and T-s’, etc.? Most done yet, the anxiety persisted weighted by the fantasm of the anticipated hip op, a heavy ball & chain around my delicate consciousness.
Kuddo’s for Florenz Nightengale. You redeemed himself marvelously. The threat of not coming down from Genoa for my op was another fantasm. Of course he was going to come. He arrived at il Poggiolo the Saturday before. We drove and deposited the Dogs with their sitters Sunday morning, continuing on to a birthday party for You’s brother, who had knocked upon 60 years. A distraction. Mountain trattoria specializing in funghi. It’s been a grand season for funghi in Italy this year. Ordered a lasagna packed full of funghi porcini. Could not eat another thing afterwards. Maybe a salad. Drove back to il Poggiolo only to head out for a pizza at You’s preferred pizzeria in Pieve San Lorenzo above our village of Codiponte. Our favourite lady pizzaiolo was manning the palette at the hot brick oven. She did good. A golden calzone for You, pizza bianca con un’uova for me. Eating seemed to assuage anxiety somewhat and until I took a pill to sleep.
You drove me to the hospital Monday morning. The appointment was for 8:30. Neither of us, and one is an Italian doctor working within the Italian national health scheme, could figure out why I had to lay in a hospital bed for a entire day. You patiently sat while I was interrogated by the Admitting Nurse on who I was, my medical history… previous operations, allergies, transfusions… and what was supposed to happen to me in the hospital. What? You don’t know? My left hip! Just checking, Signore. A test? Then, You stayed to accompany me through a saltless lunch before excusing himself to drive back to il Poggiolo for an afternoon nap. He deserved it. I couldn’t nap and instead, tried to distract myself with an afternoon of reading. You returned to watch me not eat a saltless dinner. The tray retrieved and You gave me a quick kiss and a Buona Notte to head for home to rest up for tomorrow’s ordeal. Sleep? Got a pill without the asking. Thank the Good Lord.
I was awakened at 6:30AM. Temp, blood pressure and a last minute check on my heart-beat. All OK. Two nurses arrived with brisk instructions on how & where to shave myself and the intricacies of slipping on a transparent coat?… and covers for my feet and head… in a bright green synthetic material. Rather chic, leaving aside their requirement. Like a beach cover-up with no interest to cover-up. Once done, into the bed for the trip to the operating theatre. A long voyage once past the automatic double doors protecting the inner sanctum.
Darn if it wasn’t nearly the same crew I had five years ago for the op on my right hip. An intermediate stop for one last interrogation… a test?… before submitting unconsciously to the saw. Lo’ & behold, there was my surgeon chatting with a colleague in an adjoining room. We smile, waved and exchanged in bocca lupo separated by a glass partition. Felt a bit superstitious. Like not seeing the bride before the wedding. The surgeon came out to introduce me to a few members of his staff. Beside himself, there was another orthopedic surgeon, a general surgeon… to stitch me up, I discovered later… a technical consultant from the manufacturer of the prosthesis… defects have arisen for prosthesis installed between 2000 and 2011. Whew!… the capo sala operatoria, 2 anesthesiologists… a guy and a girl… and 6 nurses. 13 people in all!!! A convention of health care professionals assembled on my behalf. WOW!
The operating theatre was rife with nervous energy to get-going. The get-going got stopped when neither of the 2 anaesthesiologists could find the sweet-spot between the vertebrae of my spinal column to slide the needle in with its drug to deeply numb all below my belly-button. This wrecked everyone’s nerves.
Other nerves were wrecked when a blackened mole was seen at the base of my back. Staff was concerned and affirmed… to me in my semi-drugged state… that I would be visited post-op by an in-house dermatologist to have a look. Back to the needle. Doubled over myself and crunched down by two attending nurses, the spot was eventually found and off into la-la-land went any sensation from my tummy down. I was gently rolled over onto my right side to expose my left hip, a mask was put over my face. The next thing I knew was the gentle pat on my shoulder from the gal anaesthesiologist to tell me the final stitches were being sutured and all would be done. It all went splendidly. I did good. Gosh. Thank you, dottoressa. Occasionally, blood would rush down a tube close to my face. Reminded me of the ads for products to unclog drains. Sani-flush? I was wheeled out and could manage a regal wave to Staff, liberally dispensing my thank you’s for those who tagged along… everyone is fascinated that I am an American, thus, the groupies… my surgeon included and I was promptly given his benediction with a thumb’s up… and a nice, big smile.
Once sensation had returned and I could talk and be understood in my American accented Italian, a nurse… I remembered her, Daniela, from the last op five years ago. A garrulous force of nature with a sense of humour and a heart too… came to me to ask if I had made arrangements to laterally move to rehab after a few days in hospital. Don Gnocchi? No. I thought it was automatic. No, signore. Ci vuole una richiesta. La seguo io. Non preoccuparti. Grazie, Daniela. She ran into a brick wall of bureaucracy, poor thing.
One of the absolute elements of living in Italy is residency. It’s essential. You can’t move without it. Residency defines you, corrals you, attaches you to the Italian State and all of its many branches, like the ASL, the Italian national health scheme. Big ASL health stuff, like an op, can happen anywhere in Italy since, you are given the right to choose your attending dottore, chiurugo, expert, wherever in the country. The small ASL health stuff… rehab, therapies, post-op checks & controls… has to be done where you have your residency. Mine is in Genoa. No way man. I’d get lost, overlooked, forgotten there… and wait a life-time for an appointment. No problem for me to have been operated upon in a hospital in the town of Fivizzano by a Tuscan surgeon. Fantastic. Humane dimensions, good people, superb surgeon. But, I got a…Eeets not possibile la riabilitazione qui, signore. Lei deve andare a Genova. The Bureaucratic Wall.
The local rehab is housed in a newly built palazzo next door to the Fivizzano hospital. The facility is actually a sub-contractor to ASL, partially funded by the Catholic Church. Don Gnocchi. A real person, a priest, who did lots of Good, was made a Saint, then, financing quickly followed after Beatificazione to create a foundation. There are Don Gnocchi’s all over Italy. Think the cookie-cutter reliability of a Holiday Inn, only there are bunches of nurses, doctors and therapists bustling about at all hours of the day & night and each in their own color-coordinated uniforms. Blu per i dottori, verde per gli infermieri, azzurro per gli assistenti and bianco per quelli adatti alla pulizia. A big, modern, professional health care business. However, Don Gnocchi has to obey the Rules & Regulations, ie residency or no residency. The B-wall.
The nurse, Daniela came back with the Bad News… no Don Gnocchi. Oh? Well, that’s crummy. What next, Daniela? Let me see what I can do. Non preoccuparti. OK. Molto grazie.
She took pity on me. She had help. I know on Earth and, I suspect, from on High too. There was no way the hospital could send me home, barely able to move on crutches or, with a walker, and dependent on pain-killers & anti- biotics… I had a recurring and often high temperature… plus constant anti-inflammation drugs 24/7. I appreciated the concern, the responsibility of the hospital and its staff towards its patients. Daniela went to speak with Dott. Vaselli. A bald, smiling gentleman and the hospital’s il capo for orthopedics and its care & treatments. He took pity on me too.
Daniela came back with a proposal from il Dott. Vaselli with the idea of moving me to an extended stay ward where I could stay, receive physical-therapy visits, until I was able to go home and care for myself properly. Sounded like a fine proposal. I enthusiastically gave my approval and thanks.
An hour later in walked Daniela with a dottore I had never seen before. Tall, thin, smiling, gentile. 10 years in the Lunigiana utilising its health care facilities, I have come to know most of i dottori. He was introduced to me as Dott. Barilli, like the pasta but, sadly for him, no relation, and is the head of Don Gnocchi-Fivizzano. He had a new proposal to….yes, move me on over to rehab. Apparently, Daniela, Dott. Vaselli and Barilli were in cahoots to make something necessary happen for my better health. They had ingeniously gotten around ASL’s residency requirement. I asked no questions. Anonymity serves in certain happenstances. Hip-hip-hurrah!!!
Four days after me op, I was transported next door to Don Gnocchi. I gave my heartfelt thanks and gratitude to all the nurses present and, lo & behold, to Dott. Vaselli who appeared as I was pushed to rehab. Nurses & doctors are a wonderful species, don’t you think?
Rehab was rehab. Work in another word. 2 hours in the morning of being manipulated, exercised, bicycled till I cried… Mother!!!… and in time to be seated in my room for yet another tasteless lunch followed by a nap, if lucky, only to return for another 2 hour stint of the same in the afternoon. Day in and day out. I thought I was destined for massages, hot medicinal baths to soothe the pain & discomfort and torment of a hip op, alternating with laps around the facility on crutches. Nope. No pain, no gain. Gym work. On my off hours, I read all my books and watched The Crown for the umpteenth time, took photos of the juniper trees outside my window, felt bored and pined for my Dogs and Roberto too. I wanted to run-away from rehab. I got my chance on the following Saturday. Roberto went to retrieve our canines after two weeks with the sitters. Their time was up and thus, mine too. Rehab did not want me to leave. The nurses seemed bit miffed that after a week I was ready to hit the road. Begging their pardon, I road off in You’s old AUDI into the rain to be happily installed in the Apt. Azzurro, You, the Dogs, refrig, and fireplace ready for me. Hallelujah!!!
How about a photo-medley?…
P.S. I have spend out of pocket on my hip op Euro 272,21 or, $300.72.
Health care in Italy: Part 4...
Archive post October 18, 2019…
Got an hip op date! This coming Tuesday, the 22nd of October. The phone call came through last Friday before pranzo. I had a hunch. And, it came true! And, finall-yyy!!! The nurse… il Capo Sala… was a whole lot nicer than from the last time I spoke with her. She talked as if awarding me a prize. She was. I thanked her enthusiastically. She seemed to appreciate in having made my day. Always willing to oblige whenever I can. Then, my stomach went into YIKES!!!
First thing I did was check the 10 day forecast. It’s supposed to rain the entire time I am out of action in the hospital and in rehab. Fine for me, not for someone else: You will be miserable. Hope he has an interesting book to read while keeping me company post-op. His presence was nick ‘n tuck there. You launched his BOMB over the cellphone from work…
always hectic these furtive telecommunications in the spaces between patients and not particularly conducive to receiving Bad News and/or, of taking A Position contrary to another’s innocent expectations…
that he might not be able to come down for my hip op. WHAT??? Here’s our tele-conversation…
Previous commitments? What previous commitments? More IMPORTANT than me? Had I known a date for your operation, I might be able… YOU!!! We’ve known about this hip operation from the first of June for October! Listen to me, I am not asking you to care for the Dogs. No. I am not asking you to stay the entire week, while I hobble around on crutches and confront the challenge of finding absolutely delectable a boiled chicken fillet and a baked apple for breakfast, lunch & dinner 8 days straight. No. I’m not even asking you to take me to and retrieve me from the hospital. No. I AM ASKING, however, FOR YOUR ESTEEMED PRESENCE on the day of the hip-op, staying the night at il Poggiolo, in case I FREAK-OUT or something, and then, you may go away, to return 6 to 7 days later with Our Adored Canines brought down to GREET ME upon my happy arrival at the Appartamento Azzurro from their sojourn in Genoa with the Dog Sitter. I will liberally dispense Big Kisses to all present… you included… but, No Show, No Big Kisses, kiddo. 3 days max. Not the 10 from the previous hip-op. You managed to cough out… Vediamo…. then, he signed OFF.
I immediately confided with the 2 Best Persons around… My English Friend and My German Friend. There aren’t any Frewnch Persons about in my part of the Lunigiana or, I would have included 1 to form a pan-European triumvirate of Moral Support. The 2 Best Persons I had were enough. They applauded my formulated Plan Of Action: I would say nothing. Let the cards splatter all over if they must, just like My Sister pulled on me when proposing a new, fun card game: 52 Pick-up. I’m such a dupe. I wasn’t amused then and, I was holding back from being seriously not amused this time. My Innate Christian Patience once again came to the fore. Now, with the op date, You changed his position: he is supposed to arrive this evening, Friday, for the weekend… Golly!… take me to the hospital on the Monday, and be around when I am wheeled back into the hospital room gassed happy on morphine. A miracle drug, by the way. You may retire for ONE NIGHT ONLY at il Poggiolo, if I happen to FREAK-OUT or something.
Bag is packed. I will be dressed similarly to a low-cost airline attendant from 1 of those Central Asian countries: blue or, black pull-on pants, white T- or polo-shirts and the ugliest pair of black slip-ons to have ever escaped a Chinese shoe factory: plastic clogs which, the 10 1/2 I had ordered off amazon.it are a bit more than just slightly shy size-wise. And, you cannot stretch plastic like you can leather. But try to find a leather slip-on costing less than the GPA of an, again, 1 of those Central Asian countries. I have all my meds, soaps and socks too. Crutches, the elevated toilet and the all-important pappagallo are at the ready. Oh, and The Odyssey, my chosen book to see me through. Currently, Odysseus is dealing with the Dead. Should never have offended the Gods.
Dogs are packed. Dry and canned food galore. Nina-beenas has her meds. Crackers & Emmental cheese for treats. You & I will drive them North on Sunday morning…. in the predicted rain… to leave them with the Dog Sitter. We will be back by late Sunday afternoon. Enough time for me to get nervous.
You will be supplied with groceries, Euro’s and the heat will be ON in his BR.
Next transmission and I… will… have… a… new… left… hip!!! Wish me luck?
Health care in Italy: Part 3...
Archive post October 9, 2019…
We are not rockin’ and a rollin’ toward my hip op! Take a number dude. And wait!
I called the nurse responsible for scheduling surgeries at the little Fivizzano Hospital last Monday. I really needed a date. One, to stem the growing op-anxiety, and secondly, I must organise The World before I am wheeled into the operating theatre on a Tuesday morning. Roberto with €€€’s and food and a Beeg Kissses, the Dogs with food… canned and the dried stuff… their leashes, mattress, rain slickers and Beeg Kisses too at the Dog Sitter’s, and me with establishing a Recuperation Base Camp post-op with food, water, firewood, winter clothes and rehab gear of crutches, potty seat and… now get ready… un pappagallo or, parrot… a most wonderful convenience for pee-pee in the middle of the night. And yes, it really does resemble a parrot.
Well, I was super polite even when I had to repeat my name three times to be identified. An annoying problem is there’s nothing recognisably coherent about my first and last names, sound wise, to an Italiana/o/e/i. Especially over an iPhone. The nurse, who could have cared less who I was or, what I wanted, shot back the standard Italian Formal Form of defence… Mi dica… or, Tell me. I detest it. A mock stance of politeness. She should have replied with… Come potrei essere utile?… or, How may I be useful? Hell! She’s a darn public servant. In the service of her clientele, the Italian People and a few extraneous residents of foreign origins, i.e. io. I proceeded to remind the person of her verbal commitment made to me just the week before to 2 dates for my hip op: Tuesday, October 8th or, Tuesday, the 15th. Oh, I cannot possibly tell you when. It may happen in November. Wait our call. She rang off. WHAT??? I called You immediately. He must have gotten my crazed vibes telepathically. He replied on the second ring. Si, si… your surgery is not life threatening, those types have the priority. And the hospital needs to keep a couple of slots for emergencies… and I broke in… sorry, I can be mean when thwarted or, stalled!!!… Yeah, an idiot 18 year old on his dirt bike collides with a guard rail. Si, si, him too. And then… certain surgeries take more and some less time. The nurse has to take that into consideration. Give her a break. I did. I relented. You rang off.
I went on to the 3rd Most Demanding Day of My Life since Time Memoriam.
Bad news comes in buckets. Our Esteemed Mechanic was the custodian of my aged Japanese SUV. Perennial problems with the radiator over-heating. Got stuck last Saturday on the traffic jammed autostrada with the water temp heading rapidly towards redlining, the Dogs inside, and a hot day on the outside. Of the 400+ automobiles which passed as I sat in the Emergency Lane, The Croesus-person hanging out a back window with his slobbery tongue flapping in the breeze, ONLY one car stopped to ask if the Dogs were OK, that I had water for them, could they do anything for me? That was so nice. I called Our Esteemed Mechanic during the hour’s wait for the SUV’s radiator to cool down to request an immediate resolution to this radiator issue. His advice in the meantime was to keep pouring water into the radiator to maintain a proper water level. Got that, thank you so very much. See you on 8:30AM Monday. My hypothesis was the radiator was defective. Or, the attachments. Neither was the case. A head or, cap, which maintains proper water pressure for the radiator was heading towards TOTAL DESTRUCTION. Ready to… There she blows for all of Kingdom come!!! Our Esteemed Mechanic prefaced his explanation of the situation by saying… Non e’ una cosa simpatica. Sure wasn’t. Ball park estimate of €1,000. Ouch!
Decided to head home. Key was left in the car for the Mechanic. Dogs were put inside and I summarily slammed the door behind them, locking them inside. No other key but, the one locked inside the SUV. I… could… not… believe… what… I… had… just… done!!! However, My Saviour was about though staring at me in equal disbelief. Another small but effective bit of luck was the Driver’s window was cracked just enough for My Saviour Mechanic to insert a metal rod curled to catch and lift the anti-theft knob, and thus, freeing My Adored Pooches!!! I thanked My Saviour Mechanic, his wife and the 7 other persons gathered to watch my spectacle. I give Good Drama. I drove home.
Thought I’d work on the laptop. Writing. Posting. Stuff. The mosquitos were something fierce. I lit a couple of citronella candles to ward the buggers off, placing them on the floor under the table where I like to work on the Loggia of il Poggiolo. My ankles are a buffet. Both the laptop and iPhone were out of juice. Connected the two necessary tech-equipment with extension cords to the nearest outlet. Moving my feet to the rhythm of the beat of my typing must have moved them for, shortly afterwards, I started to smell something wicked and hot. OH, MY GOD… A FIRE!!! THERE’S A FIRE!!! WHERE? THERE!!! under the table. The cords were engulfed with flames and smoke. Doused the conflagration and detached them from their respective equipment. And into the recycled plastic bin the blackened things went.
The iPhone worked. The laptop too. Then, the laptop didn’t. It was ON and lit as always but, the trackpad did not click. It did not move. It made weird growling noises too. No way to operate the damn thing, growl or no growl. Re-booted. No deal. Dead to my commands. What did I do next? I fed the Dogs. Petted them and drove to the nearest Apple Store in La Spezia, an hour’s drive away and with the dead laptop on the passenger seat. Before departure. I check and added water to the radiator. Hobbled into the store and walked out with a new Apple Macbook Air and a receipt to see if the old Macbook could be repaired. The nice young man behind the counter… dressed in the Apple Summer Uniform in an Italian Azzurro… a bright Blue… polo with a gigantic Apple embroidered badge where the young man’s chest would be… mentioned that some parts of my vintage laptop are NO LONGER AVAILABLE. Ouch! I made the Executive Decision to risk the €20 fee to find out if the darn tech-equipment could actually be restored to functionality. Back home I drove in Rush Hour traffic. And to navigate the new laptop’s set-up while sipping a regenerative and chilly white wine. The Dogs were glad to have me at home.
So, I feel to be in a Surgery Holding Pattern Hell. I also find it apt that I am reading… by coincidence… The Odyssey. A Random House edition. I can count my Blessings while poor Odysseus tackles Cyclops ands Sirens and tossing dark seas.
Health Care in Italy: Part 2...
Archive post October 9, 2019…
We are rockin’ and a rollin’ for surgery.
In Part 1, I had met with the Good Dottore Chirurgo. To get me to the head of the line for a surgical appointment with him in the hospital in Fivizzano, when those sorts of procedures are re-booted after the Summer Recess on the 1st of September… Italian dottori, hospitals, the medical profession in general, do not like to do surgery in the Summer, when the healing process slows and the risk of infection grows… he gave me a signed doc basically stating… Full steam ahead for Mr. Spears! My instructions were to personally hand it to the Capo Sala, the infermiere responsible for arranging surgeries at the Fivizzano hospital. Since it was too late to consign the doc that very evening… I was anxious to get this ball rolling before I dashed to the USofA for my Mom’s 90th Birthday Bash Weekend… I went the next day. The Capo Sala smiled and said to expect a call after the 15th of September. A day later I was on Delta for NC.
A call came right after my return for a pre-hospitalization appointment at 7:30AM. Blood work on an empty stomach… with a breakfast break afterwards for un cappuccino e una brioche which, I thought terribly thoughtful… then, an interrogation about my Medical History. I got a packet of papers to sign and return… mostly disclaimers or, requests of consent to spread your info around the hospital complex… and instructions on what to pack and what to have at home upon your return to Semi-normal Life post-op. This was followed by x-rays, MRI and an electro-cardiogram. Here, I am on a first-name basis. The waiting room crowd gave me looks as to how come I get all hugs & kisses. Well, as I wrote… everyone knows me. I stick out as the ONLY American about. I was in my car for home at 10:45AM.
In America, no one EVER, EVER, EVER talks with the other patients waiting to see the doctor. They either play with their iPhones… 90 percentile… or, flip through the latest copies of fashion or, interior decorating magazines… though rarely is there World of Interiors… and People magazine, well thumbed. The waiting rooms are functionally plush, colorful artwork grace the walls… signed to give distinction & value to their cheap sense of creativity, such as, splashes, geometric shapes or, bizarre landscapes with micro-figures stranded in them…and the air is filled with Muzak, so coughing, farting or groaning with pain won’t disturb. I HATE IT. So inhuman, unfriendly, dry.
In Italy, THE ONLY WAY YOU WILL SURVIVE or, know what in the Hell you are supposed to do, go or, be, comes from talking with the other patients. On a more expansive note, the chat will also cover local gossip, the political news… notices to exasperate you into pulling what little hair you have left after taxes… and the Five-day Forecast. Yeah, yeah, yeah, some try to play on their tablets…though most are iPads, Italians prefer the more universal term of tttabbblettt. These contraptions are cool. A very few dally with their iPhones, however, they are not considered so cool. You also are sort of obligated to be interested in the ongoing discussion though you may want to text your loved-one, who has just texted you to know how things are moving for you in the hospital. The waiting rooms are more than auster. Stalinist in the extreme. Drastic to an American sensibility on the topic. The seating is, 9 out of 10 times, a design first introduced in 1977. An individual seat… attached to 5 or 6 others with a metal bar running below them… which resembles a brown coffee cup sculpted just-a-tad so you can park your butt in it. They are more than uncomfortable… there is ONLY 1 position to sit in them. This is most unfortunate for me and others who are trapped in one waiting to discuss a hip op. No magazines EXCEPT in the X-ray waiting room. Trash journals with semi-naked TV stars of both sexes cavorting on beaches or, stroking a ghastly sofa in a ghastly salotto in a ghastly apt. in Roma or, famous couples holding their new-born infant with its face clouded out by foggy boxes to disguise its identity. If there is artwork, it is usually a photocopy of a photo of some locale of interest. Usually a church or, a highway. And, something America and its Religious Right ought to get on is a mini-altar, a mini devotional with the Virgin Mary draped with more chains than Coco Chanel sported and a mini-bust of Padre Pio, the Pugliese priest who, apparently enough, gained the Stigmata. Your are supposed to genuflect upon this news or, say something like, WOW!!! He cured disease and dis-ease of everyone. Became a charity industry so many were travelling to consult with him, naturally, leaving generous donations to The Church. One friend’s mother was taken by her mother to ask which of two suitors the mother should choose to marry… a rich Venezuelan playboy or, a prince. Padre Pio pointed to the prince. The rest is history.
Another aspect of these adventures in pre-hospitalisation is you end up passing from the Formal Italian Form to the Informal Italian Form for conversation. From Lei or, Voi, to tu. Mussolini KILLED the Voi. Thought it too French with its Vous. Voi makes sense to me. Lei does not. It’s like talking to a person but, you are actually not addressing them, instead, you could be talking to a glass on a table. If the conversation is friendly, animated, simpatica then, you can risk asking… Diamoci del tu? Once, someone said NO! to me. Did take me by surprise. Rather like a door being slammed in your face. I got over it. That bitch! You have to do something to completely dissolve distinctions of class, age, perspective since, you bump into your companions at every stage of the process on that day. Then, what happens is you run into them again for Stage 2. Got to be friends by then.
This happened to me for the all important meeting with the anaesthesiologist. You are hoping for a Thumbs Up for Surgery. Before though, the crux is to hear how the dottore wants to knock you out for the duration of the op and an infermiere wants to know your Medical History, again… previous ops, allergies, intolerances, etc… and gives you a review of your stats. Mine were OK so, I was sent on my way with a hand-shake, a pat on the back and a… Looks good. Wait for our call for the op date! Called You immediately. He congratulated me.
By the way, I have spent Euro 130,00 so far or, about $143.40. Dig it.