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.









Summer break...

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It’s not what you think.

I went to dinner at my English Friend’s house the other night. Codiponte, in its own way, is a very international retreat. Many of the World’s nations are represented, besides the Brexiteers or, non-… me, as the lone American then, a clutch of Dutch, a Brazilian family though they now live in Argentina… did not quite understand the explanation as to why, so I filled in the subsequent blank with Tax Dodgers. Buenos Aires seems the last place on the face of Dear Mother Earth to avoid the financial worry of excessive taxation… and some Australians. These later persons haven’t shown their faces in a couple of years. Must be the abominable airplane trip through Dubai since, QANTAS eliminated Rome from their docket of destinations or, now, the COVID-19 scare. Oh, well… back to my English Friends….

The wife is a determined Good Cook. She served a shrimp cocktail with homemade mayonnaise… a Southern Down Home Favourite, especially the mayo. Well, the shrimp too ‘cause I have relations who hail from Savannah, Georgia, Shrimp HQ… broiled to a crip outer shell river trout and an unofficial version of ratatouille. Odd though there were NO POTATOES!!! Like Italians, who do not count a meal a meal without bread, I thought the same with the English and spuds. What found a brief home on the plate before me was delicious and a bit Fall-ish. Summer fair cold meats, steamed vegetable and/or too many salads. Blessedly, there was lots of white wine and conversation to cover the absence of no roasted tatters.

One whirl of conversation that evening was on our Summer weather. Ghastly hot. Terrifically muggy. LITTLE RAIN!!! The English Wife is a True Believer in the Phases of the Moon. N’er a move without consulting the Lunar Calendar. I was remotely aware of this info conveyance but, typically, gave it scant thought. Filed it away and next to the amount of pressure for my beat-up SUV’s tires. Ah, she said, new Moon tonight, dears. The weather is due to change its tune. Yes, rain will be our music for next week. Get ready. It’s going to rain like it hasn’t since October of 2013. Gosh! Well, we are in next week and all I have seen was some spray just at the moment I needed to carry off the debris after two days of gardening, while You grumbled & groaned setting to rights our salotto and sala da pranzo post-camino construction. Three months of dawn arrivals of the workmen… the Dog and I are communally comatose until at least 9:00AM, he contemplating an imminent evacuation, me on nursing my third tasse di caffe’… no shows of others, vacation interruptions, for cryin’ out loud, dust, disorder, depression. The English Wife said Summer would break. Come on…

My first experience with a Summer Break… can’t recall experiencing such a phenomenon in America but, boy do they need it in California, Oregon, Colorado… was the first Summer I came to Italy. Florence. To learn Italian. August. Not the month to be anywhere but Greenland or, in the upper reaches of Norway. The city of the Medici is in a bowl. The prevailing winds pass right on over the place, leaving a desperate sort of heat & humidity. A smoggy dark brown haze soddens the antique stones and roof tiles. Must be why I found the Florentines so grumpy and unpleasant. I have since altered my perspective on the city. I fell in love twice in Firenze. One stuck!!! I have to confess… I stopped going to the Leonardo da Vinci School of Italian after the first week. I had paid for a month. Annoying teachers, treacherous students from Eurolandia and, my own personal freak-out in attempting to master Italian beyond Ciao! and Arrivederci. I will not speak of two difficult Italian verb tenses, except to say, I still, after thirty-six years, steer clear of any linguistic necessity to resort to them. One, however, is only used in places like Sicilia and the darker regions of Calabria. Ahime’. Travelled instead. Talked to old people waiting for the corriere at, Thanks to the Almighty Lord, a shady bus stop… normally these spots are situated on a large expanse of asphalt charmingly referred to as la piazza… and saw stuff. Best trip was to Assisi. But never mind. Oh, but no! It was upon my gainful return to Florence from the city of Francesco d’ that an enormous thunderstorm struck Florence and environs. Black skies, multiple & simultaneous bolts of lightening ripped across the sky, pounding torrential rains, a good deal of pandemonium with traffic, fear, terror and, a number of trees knocked down too. OK… so no electricity for a few hours afterwards. Candle light is so atmospheric. Yet, the next morning sprung a gloriously beautiful August day of blue skies, breezy, cool temps, DRY!!! Fall like weather. WONDERFUL: Summer was broke. The drenching heat & humidity snapped until the following June. That is what the English Wife was implying. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must practice my Italian Rain Dance. Still no sight of rain, darn it.

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Doesn’t look like rain to me…

…but, my laundry is drying nicely. No, that’s not my stuff hanging on the line. Mine is on folding stands in the courtyard, where it belongs, out of view. I’m not from Naples, thank you very much!

Big Things...

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I used to believe we were only entitled to One Big Thing in a life-time. Coming to Italy thirty-odd years ago was mine. My only shot at Big. Cannot recall how I did it. Oh, there are memories… my two best friends in the world put me on TWA… and stories… found work as a fayeshion designer through the back door until I had enough experience to enter at the front door and with no proper schooling in the subject… and many experiences… lived with You and his mother becoming a Saint Benedetto in the process… but, too much time has passed under the proverbial bridge and I’d rather not be bothered now to stop and reflect upon the how-to’s. Not in my character. There’s a family joke about me… one day, My Crazy/Wonderful Auntie asked… If I were to come to a fork in the road, what would I do? And my kid brother piped up… He would just barrel straight on through. My reputation forever cemented in my family.

I find myself at a fork. Can’t seem to get anything accomplished. I’ve arrested Life’s motion momentarily. Take stock as to why. Gads, a personal inventory assessment moment?

Perhaps, I have been too much alone? A probable cause of a self-imposed, and then, inflicted, Lockdown from the middle of February and, continuing on still today regardless of the subsequent easing of restrictions.

The Dog has been a comfort though he lacks the gift of conversation. Yet, he does insist to curl his 37 Weimaraner kilos on my legs as I read an autobiography of Dick Cavett. Anyone remember him? What I’ve read so far, up to Page 55… yes, I know, I ought to be further along, however, in my defence, I alternate between Dick and his often discussed travails with his dick and Hilary Mantel’s herculean third tome on Thomas Cromwell, The Mirror and the Light. Tolstoy is more concise. Poor, dear Thomas, badly portrayed in dozens of Hollywood and English films, his Destiny with an axe is unavoidable. The book is a slow trudge to decapitation. Rather kills any interest to finish the book. Unless, the how-to is of abdiing interest. Like Death in Venice. The Croesus-person could care less. A simple communicator, is he. Yawns if I’m too chatty. He may just imagine that his prime job is to stretch out on the other sofa-bed and sleep in my presence. He’s got that down pat.

Separation from You conspires a greater toll. Our relationship of late is mostly possessed of consistent telephone calls and text messages on Whatsapp. The messages are more successful than the telephone conversations. The former are often clever, ironic or culturally informative. There are links too. The later is like being grilled by your Third Grade teacher in 2 + 2. Not my subject. Not now, not yesterday and not tomorrow. Yet, like a Rottweiler, You delves… telephonically. I am often barely awake. Embarrassingly, my life at il Poggiolo a Codiponte is repetitive and a bore to. report… Got up, drank a caffe’, got dressed, walked the Dog, blah-blah-blah, sat out on the Loggia and watch the sun set behind the enclosing hills of our valley., done for the day. Fascinating. Could be to You, who is decked out in his hospital gear-par-excellence in a hospital and there’s only silence waiting for him at our home in Genoa. I suffer the interrogation as pleasantly as I can.

There was a bout of weekend visits from You right after our release to travel between Italian regions after the 3rd of June. Now, it will be three weeks until I will see You’s overly tan face… some Italians have to have a tan on… and shinning smile again. And his geeefts. The last were two stone ornaments now gracing the walls of our Fish Pond. But, damnation!!! I’ve returned to missing his talking to me when I am 50 to 100 meters away, his constant orders & commands for both house & garden, his professed admonitions to protect my interests… Do not put in double doors to the outside in the sala da pranzo!!! An absolute waste of money… while puttering in the garden with his self-proclaimed list of tasks held in his head… none of which are on my list for him to do… and leaving the mess for me to clean up.

You called this Sunday morning. He did not have good news. He said… Last Monday there were no COVID-19 patients in the hospital where he works. By Thursday there were over 30 and by late Friday night the count was 59. Several in Intensive Care. A spike. It set me back some. As predicted by Dottore You. He’s keen on lockdowns during pandemics. Break the circle. I suspect he’ll more than likely return to his old Temp-job as a Coronavirus dottore. You managed to beat the odds for three months and not come down with what survivors have said… It’s a bitch. And, by the way, eye doctors were the first to die in China from Coronavirus. You’s regular day job is as an eye doctor/surgeon. Will his luck hold? I am along for the ride though at a distance.

In my funk, I felt a need for a revision to my presumed Life’s Plan. Maybe one can have more than just One Big Thing? Credit given where credit is due? The mental motors stirred… an infinitesimal shift in perspective and, a thought slide into an anointed slot…

You’s pretty Big… to me… and though he barely cracks five feet. You & I have been together for twenty-two years. Un Big Amore. One which has survived through our thick or thins, ups ‘n downs, let the Good Times Roll, man. Hell! We even share real-estate. And, by Noon today, there were two telephone calls, three Instagram shares and four Whatsapp messages. I went to pet the Dog to share this discovery. There’s more than just one. There’s You…

…and there’s you too, Croesus-person!!! The Dog, unaware or, oblivious to changes in Spirit about, was thrilled to have my attention. HIs tail wagged. Devotion has its rewards. The Croesus-person’s been A Big Blessing. My sole companion from February 15th until June 5th. Pals together al Poggiolo a Codiponte… and with n’er a dead cat, comes when called, wakes me up like an alarm-clock, happy for any kind of grub, enthusiastic to go on a w-al-k in the Citta’ degli Alberi, prefers to sleep during the day yet, is an attentive assistant when I am assaulting the garden on some pretext or, mission and, does not complain when I watch episodes on Netflix. Books are quieter, he says.

And, the old stones of an 800 year old farm-house in a place in Tuscany know one knows about, keeping me grounded & standing just on the maintenance issues alone. The place threads Italy to You to the Dog to My Life. WOW!!! It is my home… on alternating weekends, Our Home… my kingdom, my seat on Italian soil. May I add, anchor too? The only place I care to be. A Big House surrounded by a Big Garden. Took four years to find it. Took another four years to rebuild and furnish it. I had help. Still much to do everyday. Inside and out. Sun-up to sun-down. And, in between walking the Dog and communications of various sorts from You. And, it’s our future. More plans & projects to perfect it. In the meantime, La Signora-neighbour in the Ugly Yellow House next door has turned ON the water. I am watering plants as I write. This day is sunny & bright & clear and not muggy at all. Dr Bacchus and Mr Hercules are at their posts. Unvaryingly. Ditto for all our urns. The birds are chirping. Unstintingly. The flowers are blooming, especially the hydrangeas. Purple, blue, fuchsia, pink and white. I can sleep in any one of nine beds. My pick though I have my preferences. There’s food and white wine in the refrigerator… yes, I am off the wagon. Enough glasses and plates and silverware for a party of 200 though it’s lately just me. So, again, I get to pick according to mood, I guess. The Dog has his dinner bowl. Clean clothes are in the drawers. However, I need more all white T-shirts. Life is Good. I am thankful. Singular is in the Past. There’s more Big than I realised.





Day 29 Lockdown Codiponte

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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...

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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:

  1. Pruned every fruit and non-fruit tree on our property

  2. Clipped about 350 feet of assorted hedges and won the battle after much gymnastics

  3. Cleaned the entire 25,000 ft. terraced garden of leaves, twigs, trash and an occasional stealth bio-donation

  4. Planted 15+ plants in various empty spots needing greenery or flowers

  5. Fertilised every fruit and non fruit tree, bush and plant with roots in Mother Earth and those flora managing to survive in pots

  6. Put in order our courtyard, carrying away leaves, twigs and trash and pulled weeds out of every potted plant on the premises

  7. Mowed the lawn twice

  8. Weed-whacked twice

  9. Burned three times the mighty efforts of my pruning & cleaning. Yes, we can burn

  10. Cut wood to burn since I went through the entire consignment of this Winter’s firewood

  11. And, finally, stopped to admire and sniff the flowers!




Compare and contrast...

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Archive post September 10, 2019…

I am in North Carolina… NC, for short. It’s America. Photo on the left. Bucolic, no? In about 9 hours, I will hop on three airplanes to come home to il Poggiolo a Codiponte. It’s in Italy. Photo on the right. Majestic, ne? Let’s compare and contrast, shall we?

The Similarities…

Life in an NC gated community sort of matches il Poggiolo’s gated community. Have to wave at the fellows manning the NC gate. Enthusiastic wavers. They offend easily though. Then they might call the police! At il Poggiolo, no guards. Just dogs. One barks. The other wags her tail. Got 3 gates.

The NC local folk speak English. Accent is a twang. On Good Days, I can fathom its wang-whaw. A verbal fingernails down a blackboard. Ouch! On Bad Days, I AUTO-DELETE. Too hard to figure what has been said. Or, from impatience. I dislike waiting for info. Takes awhile for the NC-ians to spit it out. Takes more time if they have dentures. A lot do. In Codiponte, Italian is the lingua franca for the locals. Barely. By habit, they habitually speak in an incomprehensible dialect. Imagine slamming verbs & nouns into mush. More mush, if missing teeth. And many are.

And with that, thus end the Similarities.

The differences are many more…

Views of golf course fairways studded with pine trees and scrub oaks against panoramas of the mighty Apuane Peaks. That Dog included.

NC has sandy soil. Perfect for golf course saw-grasses. Magnolias, azaleas and grass need hep’. Imported soil and fertilizer. A ga-zillions years ago, the place was under the ocean. Today, it is well above ground and hosts 51 golf courses. Horse farms have their corners of sand & pines too. Unmistakable scent of pine needles mixed with consistent & sopping humidity. Codiponte is surrounded by forests. A compilation of chestnuts, oaks, and a growing population of acacias. The last leaves a flowery perfume in the air near May. Think honey too. The greenery is occasionally interrupted by a castle keep or, a stone village. A ga-zillions years ago, volcanos were dominant. Their gracious bio-donations, so to speak, means you can grow anything with glee. Got to be ready to can or freeze the stuff so it won’t go bad. You can survive the Winter and avoid a trip to the supermercato.

In NC, you can choose from over 20 fast-food restaurants all within 10 minutes. 7 days a week. Not Chick-fil-ee. They close on Sunday. Management says you are supposed to go to church and rest. God did. Well, not the church part but, he did take time off to admire His Work, I suppose. Fast-food may not be your thing. When in NC, I try to limit visits to 1 or 2 times a week. I can feel the effects, if I succumb to the strong temptations to increase the number of visits. Like a school menu, Burger King on Monday, Bojangles on Tuesday… Biscuitville on Saturday!!! A heaven. My Loves are McDonald’s sausage & egg biscuits and anything over the counter at Chick-fil-ee. But, if ya’ got a hankerin’ fer sompin’ diff-er-rent, you can tootle over in your automatic drive SUV and get yerself som KFC chicken-pot-pie. Yum-yum. The folk in NC love fast-food. Lots a families. Lots of retirees. No time. They do drive-thru. Often there are 2 lanes! Normal restaurants are likewise parts of chains or, there are a few independent eateries which are considered -spensive. And apparently, no one cooks though many have fabulously large & well equipped kitchens. Sadly, there is ABSOLUTELY no fast food in Codiponte, except for maybe the past due-date panini over at the Scuzzy Bar. The nearest restaurant to Codiponte is a 30 minute drive away. Pasta is far better. The nearest authentic fast-food to il Poggiolo is in Sarzana, a long hour’s drive away. A McDonald’s. Breakfast though is a bust. Biscuits do not taste like those in NC. And, Italians really are not raised on breakfast. Caffe al latte e un biscotto ain’t breakfast. But, hey! The McDonald’s is open until Midnight! NC can’t come near that. 10PM.

TV is fun in NC. 405 cable stations. You have such a sense of control with the remote. Point and shoot. Very American. Especially of late. However, you must accept, right from the start, that if you are not into sports or episodic series about serial killers in high heels, then, there’s NOTHING interesting to watch. Netflix included. ZILCH. TV is disappointing in Italy. Or, it was the last time I watched. It’s been a while. I do not have a TV at il Poggiolo. I stream on a laptop. Or, hey! I read a book. What a novelty.

There are mobile homes in NC. In Italy, that would translate into a living in a tent or, under a bridge. Or, temporary quarters after an earthquake. If circumstances allow, you can have a house in any style you want in NC and, as big as you dare to build. A residential Disneyland of style & size. Who cleans these mansions? In Codiponte, Tuscany, Italy, you have three choices: a house in stone with a terracotta roof, an homogenized stucco house with weird roof lines and decorative grill work or, find a happy home in the stair-stepped Commie House above the village. A dream come true for some. Not me.

America, and NC is automatically included, is an irresistible drug of convenience, availability and choice. The true Gods of the nation. And, overwhelmingly so. Cars with automatic drive. I kept engaging the pedalled Parking Brake thinking it was the Clutch pedal. Went nowhere fast until I broke myself of the habit. AC is everywhere and at bone chilling temps. Don’t forget your sweater. A parka would be better. Huge multi-laned roads course hither & yon in NC, with left turn lanes… sometimes 2 lanes to go left or, right… and with assigned traffic turn-lights too. Grocery stores… did you know you can have low-fat Half&Half? I counted 16 varieties of potato-chips and peanut-butter? Gluten Free, Low Sodium, Low Sugar, No Sugar, Low Oil, No Preservatives!!!… and pharmacies are all open 24/7. You can buy car tires in Walmart, while you are waiting for your heart medicine at its in-store pharmacy. Starbucks on every corner. Drive-thru included. Go inside. The lines are shorter. Ditto for gas-stations. 9 brands of gasoline. 3 types of unleaded. Often they crowd.

American requires balls. Or, stamina. I am an out-of-shape ex-pat when there. But, after a few days, I adapt with gusto. Italy is put aside until I hit the catch…

Forget plain & simple in America. Nowhere to be found. A friend asked me to buy and bring back Crest Toothpaste. Plain, simple, ordinary Crest Toothpaste. She likes the taste. No problem, I said. That used to be important once-upon-a-time. Ordinary was thrown out in the 90’s by the marketiers. They perceived the market was ready and needy for more singularly focused dental-care products. Another God. All the better to capture attention in self-service stores. Americans run crazed about the slightest defect. Toothpaste for whitening, anti-cavity, total f**cking protection. Nothing plain, nothing simple, nothing regular, nothing ordinary. A toothpaste which is toothpaste? Nope. Not an interesting exercise in chemistry or marketing. It has to do something more… focus on one freaking dental-care issue per product. It’s a dupe. Toothpaste can only clean. Stop. Anything else is a fraud. Of no interest on anyone’s radar. Americans think differently. I persisted to pursue. I went to 9 stores. 9 grocery and drug stores, plus a Walmart. Walmart had the worst stock, by the way. Was told by a nice woman in a ill-fitting blue Walmart smock she had never seen plain, simple… Crest.

Italy, and Codiponte well belongs here, is blessedly the opposite. To NC and America, there are embarrassingly few choices. Different. Most cars are manual. That may change with the forced introduction of electric cars. However, electricity is massively expensive and for a car, will be more so than gas. Just saying. AC is for hotels. For Americans. Movie theaters are not AC-ed. Italians rarely risk eating ethnic. Suspect. And, why should they? Their cooking is genius. Why screw around with it or, risk diarrhoea. You know? A hamburger in Italy comes out of a micro-wave. Not hard to think why. Grocery stores are not open 24/7. Many close for the pausa pranzo at Mid-day or, afternoons one day-a-week. Starbucks are ONLY in airports… if even there… and you have to sweat to find a gas station unless you are travelling on an autostrada. But even then, you sweat. And, I would get laughed out of the country, if I were to ask for low-fat panna. Done. A paradise of plain, simple, ordinary wonderfulness. Familiar. Fast too. Nothing to ponder, debate, weigh the pro’s or con’s. See, grab, go.

End of the story? Not quite. I cannot wait to get back.