Day 29 Lockdown Codiponte
Day 53 for me.
Weather continues to be outrageously sunny, meaning n’er a cloud, warm, meaning HOT & DRY, and often terrifically windy, meaning NO YARD WORK but to water.
Our lockdown continues and has been extended to April 13th, Easter Weekend. Dottore You said our confinement will be again extended. This bug currently menacing us on a Global level will need several more weeks, if not months to dissipate.
In the meantime, there’s already an obnoxious array of videos on YouTube with advice, suggestions or, recommendations on what & how you can fill all your lockdown time being constructive and not end up on the sofa balancing a bowl of potato-chips on your expanding tummy, sipping from a goblet filled to the brim with a chilly white wine, while struggling through the pitiful offering of movies or TV shows on Netflix…
I REFUSE to do yoga with my pet sheepdog… got no sheepdog, and, Thank God!… calisthenics with a rope and a closet door… I am NOT going to hunt for a rope… or, prop myself up into a horizontally torturous position for 15 minutes… NO WAY, man! I want to be able to get to the sofa afterwards. So much for physical exercise.
On the spiritual side of Life, one can YouTube it with learning Mindfulness while washing your hands to the cadence of Australian vowel sounds, listen to the prognostications of a very nice woman channeling an entity named Abraham, who encourages not to buy into all the Coronavirus hoopla and just think happy thoughts or, follow a former actor and now a professional consciousness coach who, in the video I caught, was sitting on a park bench in Chicago. He spoke of accepting The Now. In his case, his Now was walking on crutches after a hamstring accident. Apparently to him, a metaphor for the Coronavirus opportunity to recognise our Oneness with unbounded Nature. Whatever.
I find the most solace, humour and good-spiritedness in the videos and comical sayings exchanged on WhatsApp with friends & family. I thought I would share some of the fun…
Onwards to other Days!
Day 25 Lockdown Codiponte...
I am not at the end of my rope… yet. Many are though, but not me. I’m made of sterner stuff.
As is the Tradition, let me say, and before I dive into a lecture on Freedom, the lack thereof or, what we all are doing in the meantime, it’s absolutely gorgeous here in Codiponte: bright, sunny, cloudless days from Day 19 through to Day 25 of Lockdown Codiponte. By the way…
I must interject: my term of captivity is actually longer than the Official Lockdown. You…. Dr. You, that is, knowing full well my career as an ardent smoker long before I ever laid drunken eyes on him, and thus, understands my vulnerability to the threats of bronchitis, pneumonia, and not must unwillingly add the menace of Coronavirus to the list, suggested, highly suggested, I remove myself from circulation and remain within the confines of il Poggiolo. Whew! What a sentence. My confinement, in fact, is from the middle of February. As the count stands, I am, personally, in Day 49, from the 15th of February. I am not alone in this. My 90 year old mother, my English friends here in Codiponte, and others around I am sure.
To finish with the current weather report…
however, possibly for contrast or, for plain mean spirited-ness, it is also unseasonably beeg freezing cold too. During the night and, is especially felt in the morning. 37F degrees this morning. That’s cold for these parts and in April. The Croesus-person would not budge from off my bed until 10AM. Thermometer showed only 40F degrees at that hour. The Dog has an uncanny nose for only two… nope, sorry, three things: food, a savoury stick… you may substitute icky for savoury… and the cold. And this morning, with a light wind from Frawnce, the Chill Factor knocked the temp down to a feels-like 32F degrees. I can attest: there’s nothing colder in this World than standing in one’s skivvies risking disease… though holding a warm glass with a freshly made espresso… observing a crazed Weimaraner run up to his anointed spot to unleash his pent-up bio-donations. I refuse to do this daily ceremony with said Dog on a leash though I am under orders to do so. Enough of our Freedoms have already been taken away…
not that I am complaining.
Freedom? A New Freedom. I don’t want to get deep here but, I looked up the old meaning on Wikipedia. Merriam-Webster took too long to load. It states Freedom as: generally, having the ability to act or change without constraint. Easy. I am constrained. We all our constrained. Some of us more than others. I won’t name the name of the countries who seem reluctant to constrain their Peoples to stem the spread of Coronavirus. We’re all in this together. Get with it.
Nor do I want to be overly reflective yet, I find myself in a quandary with regards to this Coronavirus constraint: An adverse reaction. I have tons, literally tons, of stuff to do, to knock off the Task List, take these unexpected circumstances to achieve, accomplish, master, since I am prohibited BY DECREE!!! to hop in my SUV and go anywhere fun… like visit friends, go out to dinner, hang out at Luca’s Bar at Happy Hour. Nope. Instead, what I really want to do is NOT TO DO any of them. There, the New Freedom. However, when I try to goof off, I can’t…
relax, lull on a chaise and read a book in the sun though bundled-up in a sweater, throw blanket and scarf… GOT NO BOOKS, thanks to the spectacularly prompt delivery service at amazon.com. Odd because the only airplanes flying overhead are for cargo.
watch something on Netflix only to discover there is nothing palatable to watch. Sorry… I DO NOT WATCH MOVIES with a 23% Approval Rating from Rotten Tomatoes. I have Standards.
learn a language. How about Russian? I booked Pimsleur. Great outfit. Putting the written language aside, the Russian words and their pronunciation are…? Are…? ARE TONGUE TWISTERS. An example: Wouldn’t you like something to drink? comes to be and written phonetically as: Nee katill-beh bweh vweh stoney-bootz vweebitz? After that, I need some more white wine becomes… Mehnee new-zhnoh yesh-sh-ey nimnogoh belogo vinah. I have to go downstairs to pour me some to unravel my tongue and lips.
take on the challenge of learning how to use a digital mirror-less camera to shoot my new found passion for chestnut trees left to rot & decay on the hills around Codiponte. The Croesus-person is of no help as an assistant. Nevertheless, he does have the concession for collecting firewood down pat. Bravo cagnolino!
So, I struggle with all of the above. What I have managed to do and at my complete Freedom, is YARD WORK in il Poggiolo’s maturing-nicely-thank-you garden. Let me provide a List AND a photo-medley:
Pruned every fruit and non-fruit tree on our property
Clipped about 350 feet of assorted hedges and won the battle after much gymnastics
Cleaned the entire 25,000 ft. terraced garden of leaves, twigs, trash and an occasional stealth bio-donation
Planted 15+ plants in various empty spots needing greenery or flowers
Fertilised every fruit and non fruit tree, bush and plant with roots in Mother Earth and those flora managing to survive in pots
Put in order our courtyard, carrying away leaves, twigs and trash and pulled weeds out of every potted plant on the premises
Mowed the lawn twice
Weed-whacked twice
Burned three times the mighty efforts of my pruning & cleaning. Yes, we can burn
Cut wood to burn since I went through the entire consignment of this Winter’s firewood
And, finally, stopped to admire and sniff the flowers!
Day 18 Lock-down Codiponte...
You know when the weather gal or guy gives the forecast and they say…
The temperature outside,folks, is a bracing 37F degrees. Bundle-up! And with that cold Northeast wind blowing now after the last weekend’s system passed out to the Atlantic, the Chill Factor makes the temps feel like a bone-shivering 30F degrees.
Well, what with Coronavirus info overload… could be worse than the actual virus?… newscasters and Internet news sites should caption any Coronavirus report with a Coronavirus Factor or Index. I will in the meantime. For instance, take yesterday’s shocker…
Buckingham Palace announced the Prince of Wales tested positive for Coronavirus. He is displaying some symptoms but otherwise remains in good health. We want to extend our Best Wishes to Prince Charles and to Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall, who tested negative. They are in self-isolation in Balmoral. We would like to alert our viewing public of a Coronavirus Factor of… a sick sinking feeling, -100 for this news item.
If you are at all worried about the Queen who is in self-isolation at Windsor Castle with the Duke of Edinburgh, the CF will hit a -3,457… we cannot muster the words.
Let’s see how this CF will work…
We certainly have had reports this week. Numbers on infected and deaths unexpectedly spiked last Monday, while over the weekend they looked to be on their way down. I would give the news a CF of -150. That ought to cover the stress alone, if not a sense of impending doom.
The PM and government responded promptly with a new decree and quickly signed into law upping considerably fines & penalties for not staying at home. Fines now run from €400 to €3,000… or, about $433 to $ 3,352. Which fine price point depends upon several factors: the circumstances of your capture, the moods of the Carabinieri and, how far afield you had managed to sneak away to before being captured, and did you have the Coronavirus form filled out, etc. If you are caught breaking quarantine… shame on you!!!… up to 5 years in jail. Right on! I give this a CF of -2. Less than for Prince Charles, I know, but you see, I’m not keen on fines. Rebel American. And, I’ve got to slip out of Codiponte later to make a furtive run to the D’Oro grocery store. I am out of white wine! The store has the best price to selection of any supermarket in the Lunigiana. There is no other place to go to. None of the local alimentary have good wines. They also have no stock either on anything else I might need. For instance, bread. The little convenience shop in Codiponte habitually orders bread for the few but regular clients, all residents of our fair village. By the way, did you see the piazzetta all done up nicely in my previous blog post? Shame on you if you haven’t!!! So, by the time I think… Oh, gosh,! need bread… at 11:30AM… there’s none. Early Bird catches the loaf? I went early the next day and what was on hand was completely reserved. I did not go back a third time. I want my D’Oro! As for white wine… I am sorry, friends. I know we are experiencing an unprecedented Global health crisis and, everyone must do their part. My part, staying at home with a wired Weimaraner and without the benefit of Dottore You presence requires white wine. AND I DO NOT DRINK WINE FROM A CARTON. No discussion.
Damned, if the numbers for infected and deaths spiked again yesterday… a CF of -500, severe sense the light at the end of the tunnel has been lockdowned too.
Late Breaking News… The government is discussing an amendment to extend the State of Emergency until July 31st.
What? An immediate CF of -2,000. Without a doubt. My head is spinning. I feel weak. Psychologically constipation has hit and from too much isolation. Mental & emotional fatigue. You name it, I am feeling it, etc. Let’s make the CF -2,500. At his rate, the CF rating will expire from lack of numerals.
So much for that. Onwards…
I have notice a plethora of Italian flags about. What a fine show of solidarity in this Time of crisis. I give it a CF of +200. Warms the heart to see such an united front, doesn’t it?
Meanwhile, raising Moral is our friends over at Radio Subasio… Florence, Tuscany, Italy… which continues to rock us & roll us with an unceasing spectacular medley of Italian Greatest Hits. Naturally, the station’s CF would be +1,000,000… Yes, we are going to win this for sure. My favourite… and there are so many to choose from… is by Nek… yes, a weird Italian nickname but, he’s cute and HUGELY poplulare with our Spanish speaking brothers & sister… now experiencing the absolute s**t of Coronavirus… with his fantastic rendition of a song by Mina… Do you know of Mina? A GODDESS OF SONG. Take Barbara Streisand… tut-tut… and multiply her by 100. I will leave you…
Enjoy!
P.S. I braved the confines of lockdown and drove out in the great big world of lockdown to do some errands and did not run into a road-block or control. Thank the Good Lord! I went to the D’Oro grocery store, Miow-Bau pet store, a tabaccheria to pick up a package left by UPS, hit an ATM and, la piece de la resistance, stopped at my nursery to buy some necessary plants for if & when the fierce Russian winds abate long enough for me to sink the plants into Mother Earth.
Yes, I am a lockdown breaker but, it was vitaly important I go… NO WHITE WINE!!!
Day 15 Lock-down Codiponte...
The weather today? Sunny, bright, and very windy. Thus, quite cold.
But let’s go back to yesterday, Day 14 of the Coronavirus Lock-down Codiponte…
Lovely. Like the previous week, the day was irresistibly sunny, warm and heading towards hot by Noon, the village of Codiponte resting in silence but for the chirping of birds and the rushing noise of the Aulella River. No truck traffic. An irresistible invitation to gather up the Croesus-puppy… perennially eager to escape the from house or garden at any opportunity… pack-up my camera into its metallic green back-pack and head to the chestnut groves above Acqua Paradiso. There was a particular spot I wanted to investigate…
a dirt road off the Cascian Road at Codiponte’s New Bridge… built in the 1970’s when car traffic exceeded the one-way capacity of what is today the recently renovated roller-coast of the village’s famous Medieval Bridge. Codiponte is dialect for at the head of the bridge… is the communal tract leading past abandoned fields, vineyards and olive groves arriving at the natural spring called Acqua Paradiso. There, is a network of paths lacing together Codiponte to other villages and isolated houses in these parts. The tract is a pretty straight affair until, at a fork, it begins to gently twist & turn until it reaches the spring. More forks in the road. Two ways to go: one is to go straight past the spring and an accompanying Madonnina, which resembles a WWII bunker sawed off at the front and accessorized with the Italian’s love of pots full of colorful plastic flowers, slowly rising up and along the long spine of hills towards the North and dominating the Aulella River below or, the other is to hang a hard left and go up, up… up. Either path cuts pass acres and acres of forgotten chestnut groves. An agricultural cemetery.
The Puppy took the hard left at the stone shack happily anticipating the very trail I intended to take. The left hand one up, up… up. It’s a steep climb. On one side are magnificently brightly green moss covered low walls, once-upon-a-time gutters for the equally once-upon-a-time torrential rain-falls here in the Lunigiana, and on the other side, the ghosts of dead chestnut trees disguised by thousands of saplings and roving vines ambitiously disregarding the former live tenants on the terraced slopes. Near the peak of the ascent is an orderly tract to the right. Puppy was waiting for me, a stick in his mouth. He shot up the trail and vanished and I slowly followed holding for balance the camera mounted on its tripod ready to shoot.
Someone has been clearing the slopes to the left of undergrowth and felling trees for what I am sure will be firewood. All to the right, however, is untouched, a plateau of gnarled, crusty chestnut trees, one even imprisoned within the vestiges of a stone shack.
While Puppy scavenged for a better stick and when finding one he lays down to chew away his Wiemaraner neurosis, as I walked the groves. I see a view, plant the tripod, and shoot. I lose myself. The pressure-cooker existence of the Coronavirus forgotten in the mouth gaping beauty of these old trees, useless but for their aesthetics, and probably only to me. I love the spaces between the imaginary King, Bishops and pawns spread out on the plateau or arranged years ago on wide terraces roughed by now from too much neglect and rain. My iPhone squeales and I am quickly brought back to the dictator of our present predicament…
A friend in Holland wrote of the crisis as surreal. A good word for just about anywhere in the world these days of an unbelievable, fantastic, an intense irrationally reality. For instance…
I am quiet. Content, even. Unusual for me. Am a nervous sort. Much like my pup. I work in the garden at il Poggiolo pleased with progress on its yearly Spring-time submission to be rid of the vestiges of Winter. I take the Dog on walks. Croesus has a large collection of sticks, none of which are of any interest to him. I photograph was appeals. Savoring more the exercise of manipulating the camera than the actual result. I lie. I am very interested in the result but, have not mastered the art of the camera, as yet. The 50’s style refrigerator in la Casetta is full of my favourite feel-good foods… gorgonzola, big thick chicken hot-dogs, every salad washed & stuffed into a plastic pouch and tons of white wine! Out on the shelf-unit are potato-chips, pasta and more white wine! And, Thank the Good Lord, I am easily connected with friends & family… the world over… through my offensively expensive iPhone 11 Pro… this is not to show-off but, to share my shame… and an Apple Macbook which cost about the same, damn-it. Whatsapp and telephone exchanges consist of good-naturedly Lock-down Top This… Oh, everything’s closed here… Hospitals are over-loaded and there are no masks, gloves and supplies… I can go to the grocery store and the bank and pet store for cans of Pedigree for the pooch… Dottore You got stopped by the police asking why he was away from home. He was sent back fearing a fine in the mail of Euro 350…. I go out with the Dog and see n’er a soul… and finally, many friends but, especially a girl-friend in Genoa, sends me the most ridiculously funny videos and sayings to keep me laughing… https://youtu.be/-AZ_PRNilv0 and https://youtu.be/FgSlKbVh1SQ…
on the other side of the coin, the simplicity of confinement is continually crushed by the only company to be had beyond the Dog of the late-breaking Internet news and daily emails from the United States Department of State stating that is their want… You didn’t leave when we told you to do so 21 days ago, so now, live with it. Could there be a new syndrome in the offing? Coronavirus Confinement Conflicts? Maybe…
Came home and fixed a yummy grilled cheese sandwich, a side of potato-chips and a Coke-cola and took it up to the Loggia of the Casa Grande for an open-air lunch while addictively checking the latest news. KA-KA-KA-BOOM!!! RAI News 24’s headliner was…
Stricter measures ordered by government to combat Coronavirus.
Turn-of-the-screw or, the fire is raise for the pressure cooker? I don’t know but I could do with a Mauritius vacation on the double. However, and in light of those stricter measures, I will have to find liberation or solace with white wine, potato-ships and Netflixs. Are you game?
Day 12 Lock-down italy...
On a Friday morning, the 20th of March 2020…
My paternal grandmother started every letter to me with news on the weather. So, let me do the same before barrelling ahead with the Codiponte Coronavirus News…
Spring is in the air, flowering bushes & trees are blooming and it’s c-c-cold.
People are going stir-crazy here in Codiponte…
In the late afternoons, when I think there is no one walking about, I take my thug Puppy- Croesus to Romp & Play around the Madonnina, an homage to the Virgin Mary sighting a number of years ago. There is a lovely moss-graced stream Croesus instinctively hunts for succulent sticks along the banks of its rushing waters. He gets a vicarious bath too. This past Wednesday… the same day deaths from Coronavirus spiked terribly at 475 in one day in Italy!!! and I discovered I had nothing left in the refrigerator… I ran into a few village women coming to pray at the little grotto cum chapel. Italian men NEVER do that. They hardly go to church. Instead, they hang out at the Scuzzy Bar while le signore pray in church. However, the bar is closed now. One can buy cigarettes or a newspaper. Maybe the owners might dedicated themselves to a good ol’ Spring Cleaning with less traffic? I doubt it. Instead, the men putter in their future vegetable gardens or, loiter outside the mechanic’s. I turned and called the Dog, who came obediently, and we went instead for a drive in the SUV to our Romp & Play spot undisturbed near the Acqua Paradiso natural spring. I was surprised at first by the waddling signore until I recalled Codiponte’s church was closed on March 9th, Day 1 Lock-down Italy. I’m not keen on the Catholic religion for many reasons I won’t bore you with. However, I will say they swirl around years of listening to my Mother’s anti-Catholic stance. She also berated me with her arguments in favour of legalising drugs & prostitution and taxing the heck out of them both. These rants hark from the early 60’s. A forward thinker, my Mom. There are certain Catholic customs which, I do find dear and one is to pray at a Madonnina. They are everywhere in Italy and not erected just because the Virgin Mary paid a visit in 1972. Often though, they commemorate a death…
There was a shocking Coronavirus death in our quiet corner of the Lunigiana…
Oh! The radio just announced the enforced shortening of store hours and nothing open on Sundays. Mostly for grocery stores and pharmacies, Reason Numero Uno for being away from home. The new restrictions force the closure of all other stores. Plus, the army will participate in controlling the movements of the Italians. That some cannot get it into their heads that the best policy to combat this modern day plague is… to… stay… at… home, the main reason Coronavirus rages onwards in Italy.
News does travel quickly in these days of quarantine through Whatsapp. It was one such message from an English friend who had heard about the death of the ex-mayor of Fivizzano, the Big Town about 30 minutes away by car from Codiponte, from Coronavirus. I knew the man. Not a particularly congenial person but still, I was shaken by the news of his death. Brought home… brought uncomfortably home… the unsettling fact of knowing a person who has died from the virus.
I called You-know-who with the news. He had already heard. I vented my shock and panic. You is much like my father: hates hysterics, panic, crazed behaviour. I got a solid 5 minute dose of Be reasonable, please. A mild slap in the face. Better that than a grapefruit.
On the same famous spike on Wednesday last, I drove to the D’Oro grocery store near the Big Town of Aulla. Larder was nude. The store gives me a Senior Citizen’s discount so, I do my grande spesa there. I was prepared, if fermato dai Carabinieri at a road-block, with the proper form filled out with my identity details and the reason why I was out driving. A Mission of Mercy, I’d say. No white wine or, potato-chips. I do eat other things: fish sticks, zucchini and oranges, lots & lots of oranges. The radio was my company on the trip. The news on the hour bludgeoned the airwaves with the Coronavirus situation in Italy mentioning the numbers of sufferers first, then the number of those cured followed by the number of deaths. Then, before you can possibly digest the numbers… in any of the three categories… the announcer bounces on about which soccer player has come down with Coronavirus. Ahhh, Italy. and the Italians. Knowing must be a comfort to many coop-ed up with no soccer games for a good long while on the TV. I was happy with the distraction of driving past cars stopped along my route. Italian newspapers do not have Obituaries. Nope. The custom is to have printed a kind of obituary poster to be pasted up on boards dedicated to community announcements… elections, communal meetings, warnings not to burn until September and deaths. Stopped to read the notice of the ex-mayor’s death. Few bothered with their car’s emergency blinkers.
Flash-mobs have sprouted in Codiponte…
At the sacrosanct Cocktail Hour, people set off firecrackers. My thug Puppy Croesus, scared by the sudden racket, flees to his safe place… My Bed and boroughs to curl amongst the pillows… for the duration. 10 minutes of chaotic noise and Whoops from the populace. Then, silence.
One evening and well after dark, people went outside their abodes and turned their smart and iPhone’s flashlights ON to shine at others doing the same in our village. Could not find my grotesquely expensive new iPhone 11 Pro. Found it later hidden in the cushions… along with crumbs from a bout of crackers & cheese… on the longest Chesterfield sofa and showing its wear from my 95 kilos… a whopping 210 lbs… and those too of the now single Dog in our family, a mighty 37 kilos of solid Weimaraner… he’s going on a diet 81.5 lbs. I will be ready if bonfires become the thing. Have stock-piled under the roof of the legnaia to dry… all the better to Burn, baby, burn… and enough clippings from my extensive Spring pruning and cleaning nel Poggiolo’s garden from the rough business of Winter.
My favourite radio station… the mythic Radio Subasio… regularly plays the Italian National Hymn and a few classics from the Italian playlist… Adriano Celentano, Toto Cutugno… to incite?… encourage? people to step out on a terrace or balcony and sing, sing, sing away self-quarantine of the Lock-down Italy.
Apparently, the Codipontesi have their limits. Beating pots with wooden spoons and singing the Italian National Anthem out a window is one of them.
P.S. No one cares since parking will be vietato, however, Codiponte’s piazzetta is done, but for the last official check for final approval. May or, June. Maybe. Could be in September. Yikes!!!
Stay at home. Play solitaire. Cook. Read a book. Watch movies. Communicate on Whatsapp.
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.