While I was away...

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I went to Rome. Five days. Two and a half with You, and another two and a half with an old American friend. A recent widow. Plays bridge. Played a lot on the cruise ship she left to meet up with us in the Eternal City. If you are a fan of History, you probably know that Rome has been invaded, sacked, and despoiled a number of times. Visigoths to Charles VII of France to those creeps from the last World War. A long & wide arch. The latest is Mass Tourism. A voracious river of folk. You can’t or, wouldn’t want to image what Rome is like today. Happily, the city still stands… eternal. Meanwhile, back at our Genoese ranch, the Dogs were left with a substitute filling-in for our usual dog-sitters. The two brothers went to Spain for a cousin’s wedding.

Two unexpected things occurred at il Poggiolo during my absence: it got hot and it rained. I had mowed the lawns and weed-whacked where the mower cannot go at some point prior to my departure on a Freccia Bianca train… the Italian TGV… and in preparation of our gardener re-seeding the terraces he had re-built last year. Winter, its dead leaves, lack of water and the drying winds from Siberia… Thank You, Mr Putin?… had ravaged our grassy landscape. Mowed and whacked, everything looked clipped and orderly. Hopeful.

However, I have came back to this…

Forgot to mention the 10-Day Weather Forecast: rain, thunderstorms and, occasionally, heavy stuff until the middle of the last week of May. It’s the Moon’s fault, if you follow the Phases of the Moon.

Bumper crop of grass, I’d say. Weeds, pretty little wild flowers hovering over leafy and equally wild stalks and massive clumps of an insidious cow grass, intermittently graced by what we really want in the category of Grass: Zoysia. We may never get it. A combo or climate change, my occasional bouts of laziness and let me throw in Madam Moon too.

I was amazed. So green, so tall, so abundant. Wish my bank account were so. Power of Mother Nature, when heat & rain are mixed. In our case, suddenly. The welcoming scene alarms my sense of that phrase, clipped and orderly. However, deep down inside me, there is a rebel and having grass shoot up nearly 15 cm in the space of a long weekend has brought it out. I’ll have enough time to enjoy, perhaps even contemplate the transformation for the next 10 days. I have forewarned You. Due in at any moment. Oh! And it’s raining now. Pazienza.

Home...

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You & I bought il Poggiolo because, I wanted a house in the country. Since we live in Italy, the nearest acceptable country to Genoa, our permanent residence, was the Lunigiana. This little known corner of Northwestern Tuscany is similar to the kind of territory I had known and adored from visiting relatives in The South… predominantly, the Piedmont and Appalachian areas of South Carolina, North Carolina and Georgia. Destiny did the rest.

The house is large and is divided into three parts. The inhabitants had once lived up in the Appartamento Azzurro. I know this Codiponte family. Many were born in what is now my Bedroom. Every now & then, one comes across their initials etched into stone pavers around il Poggiolo. Then, the last of the children grew up, married and moved out. The parents relocated down to La Casetta which, was given an economical re-do by the owner of il Poggiolo… a woman who had inherited the property and rarely set foot in it. Wonders of wonders, a new, modern AND indoor Bathroom!!! The central house, our la Casa Grande, was a vast hay barn and small workrooms for making salamis, cheeses and wine. The garden wasn’t a garden but, a vineyard. The only remnants of this past are the two tini… wine vats… in a passageway connecting the outdoor courtyard…. l’aia… to the cool room where those fruits of labor were once stored and is now il Poggiolo’s communal Laundry and Bathroom.

We had to completely rebuild il Poggiolo from the foundations to the roof. No foundations with Italian houses of yesteryears. Instead, they were either built… lent would be another verb here… against an existing structure…. in il Poggiolo’s case, the remnants of the perimeter walls of the Castle of Codiponte which, one can see on the aia… courtyard… or, erected upon a rocky mount. Akin to keeping something stationary, thanks to a rocky lump. Seems to have held for the last 800 years. See no need to worry. Now buried or hidden below from our renovations.

When you reconstruct, you are think house, not home. Reinforcing walls, dealing with humidity issues, modern plumbing & electrical plants, new roofs, flooring… ad infinitum. Massive work, lot of moola, time consuming. Of the three, the first… FYI… is contained in all the blog posts at Italian House from 2009 to 2014. Nothing to say about spending money except it was spent. And, as for the last, it took You & I four years to get il Poggiolo up & running as a house.

From restoring, we moved on to Maintenance & Upkeep. Not my favourite category. And, historically, the Italians aren’t much better at it either. Oh, they can certainly design & build glories, but then, those treasures fall into a state the rest of us think is so chic, so charming, glamours, and Italian, though rarely do we mention the word decrepit. You & I have replaced several windows & doors. Terrible the ravages of rain & cold & wind. We have reworked some electrical switches & outlets and added more lights. And, in a few instances we’ve even gone totally LED. Always too bright. New washers and cooktops too. Most recently, we installed two fireboxes to have a modicum of heat nel salotto e nella sala da pranzo… the Living and Dining Rooms… of la Casa Grande. Such dust & disorder. I was forced by night to sleep in my Bedroom up in l’Appartamento Azzurro… with the Dog… normally preferring to sleep in a bed posing as a sofa in the Salotto during the late Spring, Summer and early Fall months… and living by day out on the Loggia and cooking in the Kitchen of la Casa Grande. The Dog has not understood n’er a wit of any of this. Putting the main part of il Poggiolo back into some form of cleanliness & order post-construction, and taking the example of our German friends, who are re-doing their historic abode fai-da-te… or, do-it-yourself, though two amazingly informed persons on construction will one ever be so lucky to meet… You & I re-waxed TWICE!!! the terracotta flooring throughout la Casa Grande, the Laundry & Loggia included. Back breaking, knee ruining, hip crushing work. You was a beast. Brush, brush, brush, he worked. I attempted the same. At one point though, fed up listening to my grunts & groans while brushing each paver with liquid wax, he told me to go walk the Dog. I did. And felt remarkably better and ready to resume the chore. I tried new positions with some success. Taking a pill helped considerably.

You spoke of protection and enriching. I thought… home. The wax left a nice, warm scent of one. A surprising concept… home… for il Poggiolo. it was time. The idea dawned on me while nursing a recuperative white wine in una delle mie poltrone… shot from too many Dogs sleeping in them… before an active fire that, yes, indeed, after all these tweaks… for lack of a better word… actually render our house as a home. Settling in. Finding a happy rhythm of sleeping in our originally assigned BR’s and spending the day nella Casa Grande. A medium of comfort, convenience without causing the house any undue distress in undergoing changes to its infrastructure. One idea on that score was to bash out a wall and put in French Doors nella sala da pranzo. I got a blood curdling… Over my dead body!!!… from You. I suspect the house was actually using him as its spokes-person because, it willingly underwent the construction of the two fireplaces without a hitch. Now, if we can find places for the stuff displaced by the two fireboxes, we really will have a home. A home? Yes, a home.









Codiponte's Medieval Bridge...

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Dang if it isn’t done.

Something is up whenever one sees un commitato of mostly men in jeans gesticulating, bounding off suddenly to gain perspective on whatever they have been pointing at or, milling about in chat before adjourning to quickly drive off in their white SUV’s.

Soon afterwards, operai arrived and dealt with substituting the ugly white PVC water tube which ran right across the top of the bridge’s parapet. There is now a long iron conduit… in chic Anthracite, A Signature Colour… running inside and just below the parapet. At night, there is an explosion of light from that type of Chinese plastic tube LED lighting popular at Italian beach cabanas and at mercati di Natale. Railings, two ignored do-not-pass-go stanchions… there is always an idiot who will try crossing what to others would definitely be a no-go or, resist the temptation to park un motorino where it is not wanted… and two early 19th Century looking lamp posts installed, again, all in iron painted in the bridge’s Signature Anthracite. Il pezzo di resistenza are the two some-one-has-escaped-from-prison high-intensity spots aimed at the entire Medieval Bridge plus a goodly portion of the village of Codiponte on the other side. Il Poggiolo a prime victim. More so for the poor Swedish Sister’s house at the head of the bridge… capo del ponte = Codiponte… have no choice but to shut themselves inside against the searing hyper-lighting. The Swedish Sisters cannot come to Italy ‘cause Sweden did not go into Lockdown. Swedes are persona non grata in Italy. The Swedish Sister’s are in for a shock. when they can come to what was once their grandparent’s abode.

I have thought to complain to Our Mayor, Sindaco Riccardo about the lighting choice.

Again, like the two neighbour women, who consulted NO ONE regarding the when, how and with what they sought to clean the ramp leading to il Poggiolo, neither had the sindaco,… il comune manager responsible for Codiponte’s Medieval Bridge’s re-conditioning… and his jean clad cohorts thought to even MINIMALLY consult the recipients… WE, THE PEOPLE OF CODIPONTE… about anything to do with the Medieval Bridge’s restoration and especially, the way more than necessary lighting. There was probably enough of a quorum just with the fellows in jeans, damn-it. A closed group. Thank the Good Catholic Lord, THESE POWERS-THAT-BE DID NOT INSTAL SIRENS, BELLS OR WHISTLES. When You experiences the shenanigan of any Italian asshole, his prompt comment is… Che cornuto!!! He applied the same when he took in the result of the non-consultation of Codiponte’s roller-coaster bridge… be be reminded: hardly anyone crosses it, everyone parks their cars/SUV’s/Panda’ on the dirt track below due to the Medieval Bridge’s now confirmed DANGEROUS and variable stone pavements. And, two village women have fallen. Both broke a wrist. One lost teeth and got a healthy gash on her lovely face. To date, You has not yet had the pleasure to take in the Final Touches. I feel assured he will invoke his… Che cornuto!!! If not, I will.



Day 12 Lock-down italy...

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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.

https://youtu.be/nNxhSe4TiOQ

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.



P-p-progress...

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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...

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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!