#66: Italy and USA, January – June 2009
Moving Toward The Move
Plus Milestone Birthday and Quaking Earth

January

Some months seem bound to test your grit. January was that kind of month.

A couple weeks ago, I turned on the oven in preparation for trying a tempting new recipe — a savory pie made with goat cheese, green onions and potatoes. Just the thing for a light supper. Not long after turning the oven dial, I heard a hiss and smelled something funny. Looking up toward the sound, I saw flames shooting out of the small box where electrical connections are housed near the ten-foot ceiling. A call to Russell, tall husband operating a fire extinguisher, and the fire was out.

But the story wasn’t over. Don’t know if you’ve ever used a fire extinguisher, but the cure is about as bad as the disease. Fine white powder all over everything: cupboards, cooktop, floor, 50 small spice bottles, fruit basket, dishes in the drainer, sharp knives in their wooden holder — all covered in something which might not be so good to ingest (never mind we’d already breathed the stuff while putting out the fire). But what’s the use of cleaning up until after the electrician comes? Luckily, the electrical guys hadn’t gone home for the day (working hours here are 9-1 and 4-7), so we could phone and make an appointment for early the next morning. 

Now, how can we eat? Let’s go out for a pizza! But wait a minute — it’s Monday night. All the restaurants are closed after staff worked their tails off during the weekend. So we settled for fruit and cheese and crackers and a glass of white wine. Not exactly a hot savory pie on a cold, dark January night, but not bad for emergency rations. 

Next challenge: Russell has been bothered by persistent pain in his upper abdomen for several weeks. He cut out aspirin, coffee and orange juice plus upping his anti-reflux medicine. Nothing helped, so our family doctor referred him to the Pope’s hospital in Rome for what the Italians call a gastroscopy. No cancer or ulcers in esophagus, stomach or duodenum. Small hernia in stomach near the valve leading into his esophagus might be contributing to reflux. Or there could be an inflammatory infection. Lab work will help provide some answers, but for now, serious threats have been ruled out.

More health trials: early in the month, Zack developed severe, bright yellow diarrhea and vomiting. The vet was away at a conference but took our call on his cell phone and prescribed interim treatment. When he got back, we went for a consultation, and it was clear to all of us that Zack was passing bile in his stool, indicating problems with his liver. The doc gave him a series of antibiotic injections, while we administered a tablet version daily. That seemed to help the symptoms, but we needed to know how bad Zack’s liver was. A sonogram revealed not only malformations in his liver and heart but also in his prostate and a tumor in each testicle. The vet recommended castration — gets rid of the tumors, reduces the testosterone pounding through Zack’s system and therefore likely reduces his prostate problem. Heart and liver aren’t yet too serious, so castration will probably give him a bit more of quality-life. Our dear old dog is scheduled for surgery on February 7th, coming home on the 8th. He’s past the age when he’s interested in the ladies, so it shouldn’t work too great a hardship and will probably give him a few more good years.

On the good news front, I emailed my submission for the Debut Danger competition (best unpublished mystery). Not likely I’ll win, but its always good practice and gets your name out there. Now back to work on revising the book, based on feedback from the UK writers conference last June. 

February

Having lunch with Graziano’s extended family made for a lovely start to the month. We brought home-made cookies and ice cream. They prepared six antipasti, lasagna cooked in a wood-fired oven, then polenta and wild boar, followed by roast chicken with potatoes and salad. Nice way to celebrate winter turning toward spring.

Being fortified with friends and food made the next event easier to bear. The vet removed five tumors from Zack, so he was more than due for surgery. We had the usual hassle of keeping Zack from opening the incision, the struggle ranging back and forth. We ended up moving the cats into my study so he could sleep in our bedroom and we could hear if he started licking the incisions during the night. As we come to the end of the month, restless nights on our part seem to have done the trick. 

My own happy news is that I’ve completed the final draft of my book and am ready to send it to the published authors who expressed interest at the UK writers conference. Here’s hoping they can help me find an agent and/or a publisher.

We took Graziano’s widow for a Sunday lunch high in the hills overlooking the famous Piedeluca lake. This is where crew teams come from all over Europe to practice rowing. In summer, it’s fun to watch them powering along the courses, but in winter, it’s just a lovely setting with mountains all around.

Not long after, we were invited to lunch by Italian friends. I asked what I could bring, and the hostess suggested dessert. I made pumpkin pie with some trepidation, because Italians can’t imagine pumpkin as anything but savory. However, all the folks were cosmopolitan enough to give it a try and kind enough to say they liked it.

Russell and Mario are clearing an old, small landslide that was already here when we arrived. It’s grown over with cane and briars to the point that it’s an absolute thicket. But the land has now stabilized to the point that if we clear it, neighbor Paolo can plow it. Then we can grub up the roots and sow grass seed among the trees that have sprouted in the 13 years since we moved here.

Our family physician continues to try to figure out what’s wrong with Russell’s stomach. So more tests, etc. In the meantime, she’s prescribed a palliative that coats the stomach lining and brings great relief.

We got a survey team in to definitively mark the boundaries of our property, so Russell and Mario can put up a light fence to show exactly where our property is within the hillside forest behind our house.

Local friends and acquaintances react with mixed feelings when they learn of our selling plans. Several have literally burst into tears on first hearing that we’ll be moving away. Others jump into the spirit of the exercise and immediately start offering leads. “I know a man in Rome. Owns a football club. He’s loaded. He’ll love your place. Can I tell him? Can I show him?”

March

I’m now officially a Little Old Lady, having turned 65 on the 5th. As usual, we had a joint celebration toward the end of the month (Russell’s birthday being April 15th) — visiting Lucca, an ancient town between Florence and Pisa, its Renaissance brick walls and bastions still intact. We’d been wanting to see this famous site for years, and we thoroughly enjoyed visiting churches, museums and botanical gardens; plus eating some fine food and staying in a palazzo, its piano nobile (second floor) converted into a B&B. 

Of all the interesting things in Lucca, the one that fascinated me most was a piazza which stood on the site of the old Roman amphitheater. The oval plaza was surrounded by four- and five-story buildings, all constructed where the former bleachers used to stand. The ground floors are now filled with cafes and shops where the buildings’ storerooms were originally located. Several of the shops had really clever, one-of-a-kind merchandise — soft-goods for the home with creative hand-blocked motifs on the fabric; leather goods in colorful, even fey, designs; ceramics in colors unusual for Italy, like periwinkle blue and soft rose. Fun just to walk around and look in the windows.

Other March highlights included lots of guests and a concert at the cathedral — our local chorale and orchestra performing Mozart’s Requiem, augmented by two other choirs and a quartet of trumpeters who play vintage horns a yard or more in length. The best concert we’ve attended here — wonderful music beautifully performed.

April

3:30 a.m., April 6th: The bed starts rocking, and the doors, rattling. But I’m sleeping right through it. Russell rises onto an elbow and says, “It’s an earthquake.” His voice wakes me, and I realize he’s right. It’s not strong enough to prompt us to head outside or for the safety of a doorway, but it’s enough to make us a bit queasy, given that it lasted a full minute. We went back to sleep and turned on the TV when we got up at 6:30, learning that the 5.8 quake had struck up in the mountains near L’Aquila. The next night, we felt another shock, this one not rocking, but shaking. The tolls of dead and wounded continue to mount as I write, largely due, it seems to faulty modern construction, despite laws requiring earthquake-resistant methods.

Happily, the rest of the month went much more smoothly (no pun intended). As usual, we spent Easter with the Rosati family, still missing our dear Rino. We gave up struggling with our decade-old washing machine and bought a new one (good selling point for prospective buyers!). Our local real estate agent came to take more photos of the house and grounds now that spring has sprung with iris, lilac and wisteria in glorious bloom.

May

We picked our first rose and carried it to the cemetery to honor Graziano on International Labor Day. He’s been gone a year, but we still miss him a bunch.

Some interest in the book, but too soon to tell if something will come of it. Fingers crossed and candles lit.

We attended Lorenzo Rosati’s First Communion with gala party afterward, being forced to realize that most of our kid-friends are growing up.

Then we were off to the States to check out potential places where we might move and to attend R’s 45th college reunion. We toured San Juan Bautista and various towns on the Monterey Peninsula with realtors showing us representative houses that matched our expressed interest. We ended up thinking Pacific Grove still was the place we’d like to live — not so precious as Carmel, more a community with real folks living in real houses (as opposed to second homes). We left PG feeling that when we sell our Italian house, we’ll be able to find the sort of cozy home we’re looking for, hopefully within walking distance of the sea and downtown.

We drove south along the coast and stopped in Cambria, which had been recommended as a potential place to retire, but it took only 20 minutes walking around downtown to know it wasn’t right for us. On to LA, staying with old friend Bettina and spending time with the Sunshine family.

Throughout this trekking, we got to visit with lots of friends from long-ago days, sharing meals and memories over all sorts of foods that we don’t get to eat in Italy (e.g., enchiladas).

The flight from LA to DC was bumpy from takeoff through landing. As we neared Dulles, the pilot came on to say, “Folks, the predicted storms are coming in faster than anticipated, so I’m going to ask you to take your seats and buckle up. Flight attendants, too. Let me remind you that if we have to evacuate, you should leave all carry-on items in the plane.” We’d never heard that one before, and it sure got our attention. Down, down we flew through the edges of the storm, the plane pitching and yawing, bucking like a bronco. But the pilot landed safely and we managed to pick up our luggage before the storm really crashed. An announcement came over the loudspeaker that the “ramp” (area where planes park) had been hit by lightning, the field was closed, and passengers were stranded at the midfield terminal because the mobile lounges weren’t running until further notice. Both sheet and air-to-ground lightning was striking all around us as we waited for the airport bus to take us to our hotel. We later heard that this was one of the worst storms to hit DC in some time, but one of an increasing pattern attributed to global warming.

We overnighted at the airport and then trained up to New Haven. Great to see old Yale buddies who’d visited us in Italy and to attend the educational programs on offer, always a highlight for me. This year, I concentrated on those with scientific themes — what engineers are learning from biology; how Darwin’s theories shaped 19th century culture; experimental use of brain scans to reveal unconscious thoughts, emotions and social biases. The final night’s dinner dance was, as always, lots of fun. I love to dance with Russell, and we don’t get much chance to do that in Italy.

June

Back across the Atlantic and home, happy to be among local friends and catching up on all the things left undone while we were away.

For a while, poor old Zack seemed on his last legs, literally, but our splendid vet and an orthopedist started injections of cortisone which helped to the point that he could come home. We continue to give him cortisone by mouth, to be tapered off slowly over the coming month. If, when he comes off the cortisone, his disability returns, we’ll have to take a tough decision about his quality of life. In the meantime, he can’t climb stairs or hills; he’s essentially confined to the level part of our property. As you might imagine, he’s eager for personal contact during these trying days, and we’re happy to sit with him as much as we can.

Still on the animal front, we found a small bat “glued” to a screen in an upstairs window. We decided he must have crawled into the box where the screen rolls up when not in use. Then, when we released the screen to zip into the box, the force of the action would have smashed him flat. Very sad, because bats are good animals who eat bad insects. We couldn’t figure out how to get sieved bat out of the screen, so we closed the window to keep out the smell of decaying bat and let our subconscious take over the puzzlement. Eureka! The next afternoon, I had the answer. I got a fly swatter and hit the bat’s tummy a good one. Most of his body flew off the screen and onto the roof below. Then I got some serious spray-cleaner and spritzed the remaining bat-mush off the screen, followed by hot-water-squirts from the ironing spray-bottle. As luck would have it, we had a big rain the next day, and now the smashed bat is only a sad memory.

We’re having bumper harvests of fruit this year. More plums than we can eat, and we’re passing on the bounty to friends, who’re making jam by the kettle-full. So far, we’ve got sufficient appetite to consume the apricots as they ripen. But if the abundance gets beyond us, we’ll start sharing those as well. How lucky we are to have our farmerly efforts going so well. Is there anything better than fruit right off the tree and veggies right out of the garden??