Geesh what a depressing day.  It's grey and chilly and dull, a perfect cemetery day.  In fact I took the mother-in-law to the cemetery to prepare the family tomb for November 1st, All Saint's Day.  We moved some big potted plants around then swept and scrubbed the marble.  There were all sorts of folks there doing the same thing.  Families hide brooms and brushes under the slabs and behind planters.  The cemeteries have faucets and racks lined with watering pots, trash cans and organic recycling bins.  Very organized.  I got the lowdown on all of the neighboring tombs.  Who uses plastic flowers,(tacky), who puts out colorful or modern displays, (also tacky), who neglects their tombs, (very bad), and who does a nice job with the upkeep, (good).  Some family tombs are no longer tended because there is no one alive willing or able to do it.  After fifty years their contract runs out.  If it isn't renewed the bones are moved to an "ossario", or bone storage place, and the tomb is given to another family.  Creepy.  There are a lot of strange rules governing these cemeteries.  A non family member cannot be buried in a tomb without first appealing to the town administration.  The family whose tomb it is, has to submit letters saying why they want to let the outsider in.  I think one should be able to stick whomever one pleases in the family box!  I'm sure not going in there.  No trees, no grass, foreigners one and all.....

On the drive home the fields had all been cut back and plowed.  A huge hawk flew right across my windshield.  He was hunting over the stubble left from the corn harvest.  Poor little field-mice!  When I got here I called our accountant in Maine.  She is number three and hopefully the one who will dig us out of this mess.  It's been a year since this tax stuff all started and I am sincerely tired of it!  We leave for Germany early tomorrow morning.  Auf Wiedersehen!  xxoo me

My Germans are here!  Das ist gut!  They are down this-a-way visiting through Tuesday and then Grace and I are driving to Wiesbaden, near Frankfurt, to visit with them for four days.  We leave early Tuesday morning, stop for lunch in Vevey Switzerland to visit with Betty, my library colleague from last year, then continue on for another 5 hours or so.  The trip takes around eight hours if we drive straight through.   I'm very excited!  I haven't seen them yet as they're staying with another German family in the city.  We're meeting tomorrow for lunch and shopping and then Paula, Grace's friend, comes back here with us.  Monday night Birgit and her son, Jaro,  are also sleeping here.  They have to camp out on the floor which will not be very comfortable but we want to leave early and have no other space for them.  I'm looking forward to a week off and a trip away.  It's been a rather intense fall.

It is now Saturday night and I've just come back from visiting with the Germans, bringing Paula, Grace's friend, back with me.   I didn't realize how much I missed them until I had them here again.  There are certain people in your life that just make you feel safe and comfortable.  This family has that effect on me.  They are warm and cuddly.  Tomorrow is a walk in the mountains followed by dinner out.  Then off to Deuctshland!  Oh boy!  xxoo me

The Bora has come, the Bora has come!  The Bora is a type of strong wind that comes from the east, over the Adriatic Sea.  This is the first really clear day since we've been back and it's because it's blowing like mad.  I love it.  The locals hate it.  It is so rarely windy here and today it's "knock your hat off and chase it down the street" windy.   When it blows like this here, there are serious problems in northeastern Italy.  The strongest winds hit Trieste, a city at the upper tip of the Adriatic.  The streets in Trieste are lines with ropes and chains so that pedestrians don't get whipped out to sea.  The roofs are covered in heavy stones so tiles aren't turned into projectile weapons.  I've never been but would love to see it.

At work we have a flummoxing problem.  Three times now, my colleague in the library has found large footprints on the toilet seat in the handicap stall of our bathroom.  This is why we are flummoxed.  The footprints face the wall.  A squatter would face out.  There is nothing on the wall or ceiling to entice a person to stand up on the seat.  I feel like Nancy Drew in " The Case of the Footprints on the Toilet Seat".  We run back and forth a few times a day to see if the prints are back, trying to figure out who is leaving them.  Once we figure out who, we can ask the why!  Work can be a little slow sometimes...

xxoo me

GP’s car was broken into last night.  Usually he parks in the garage, whereas I park my car in a space on the street.  Last night he also left his out on the street.  Silly man.  The very first night we spent in our condo, 150 years ago, GP was too tired to move his car into the garage.  When we woke up in the morning it was gone.   It was found a week later abandoned along the side of a back road, with a missing battery.  I hope at this point he has learned his lesson and never parks on the road again.  He has bad luck.   He also has a nicer car than the ones left out in the elements, like mine.  The vandals smashed the side window and made a mess but took nothing as there was nothing to take.  What a drag. 

I have to say I am getting profoundly sick of the crime around here.   These are just some of the recent stories I've heard.


My colleague, Grace’s Bio teacher, who lives in an independent house, (the most vulnerable type),  has been here a year.  In that year, they’ve been broken into 3 times. The first time they stole electronics.  The second time, only a couple weeks later, they were angry that there was nothing valuable, (the Devil's Spawn having already visited), so they stole all of their winter clothes and pooped in all their bathrooms.  Yup, you heard that right.  I’m not sure what happened the 3^rd time. Then just 2 weeks ago, she was getting her baby out of the car at the preschool across the street when a thief did a “smash and grab” of her bag and drove off in a waiting car.   The family is German.   She doesn’t need to be here.  I’m surprised they haven’t packed up and left.

Another colleague failed to shut her safety shutters in her 3^rd floor apartment.  She and her hubby went out for a pizza and came back to a ransacked house.  The thieves had scrambled up the pipes on the outside of the building.

Italians tend to blame the Gypsies and Eastern Europeans but often as not the thieves are Italian drug addicts or petty criminals.  I know the police caught the poopers and they were a gang of Italians.  The sentiment of unease is constant.  Whether remembering to put my purse on the floor behind the seat in the car because at traffic lights people smash in car windows and grab bags off front seats, (two friends), or carrying a purse on the side towards the buildings on a sidewalk because motorcyclists drive by and wrench bags off women's shoulders, (friend of mother-in-law broke her hip from the fall).  You always have to be vigilant.  A gypsy stole Grace's 3 euros change from her train ticket out of the slot in the ticket machine, (Gypsies stand beside these machines begging and obviously thought Grace was an easy target), and an acquaintance's daughter has had her phone ripped out of her hand while texting, not once but twice!  OK, so she's not so bright, but still....

I'm off to lock my windows and doors before going to bed.  xxoo me

This is the underbelly of the church where Aldo's funeral masses were held.  It was open for public viewing yesterday so we peeked in as we'd heard so many stories about it.  During the war, the area around Carignano was subject to allied bombings, not because it had anything to bomb, but because  Fiat factories were being used to build cannons and tanks for the German military.  The Fiat factories were in an area of Torino called Lingotto which is at least 10 miles away but, unfortunately for Carignano, the bombers at that time were not very accurate.  GP's parents were children during the war and remember hiding in the basement of the church during bomb raids.  Families would claim a space and keep mattresses and blankets stored there.  Children were tucked into the arched alcoves off to the sides as the ceilings in those areas had extra support.  Amalia said that some nights they'd be awoken twice, dragged out of bed to run down the streets to the church.  The people who lived outside the town center would leave their homes and hide down along the river bank.  The children thought it was quite an adventure but somehow I think the adults not so much.  xxoo me

The "month anniversary of the funeral mass" was tonight.  The funeral itself was very emotional with Grace on one side sobbing and Amalia on the other weeping, so I didn't really have the chance to look around.  This time I had a good look and the church is quite impressive.  It's very ornate with gold gilt everywhere, ten foot high candle sticks, gorgeous painted dome and murals.  There are gigantic statues of saints or some biblical figure or another in alcoves all around the perimeter.  Huge crystal chandeliers hang down on either side of the main alter.  It's something to see.  The alter area is so large it has three pulpits though the two smaller ones are more like stands, albeit gilt ornate stands.  Apart from the priest, lay people read passages from scripture all through the service.  The space is so big it was like biblical "Where's Waldo?"  Every time someone started speaking I had to search all over the front of the church to find them.  After the service, we took my mother-in-law out to dinner.  There are 25 pizzerias within a mile radius of our place.  We choose one we hadn't tried before and it was wonderful.  Pizza places here run the gamut from take-away to white table cloths and crystal wine glasses.  This place was closer to the latter.  I had spaghetti with tiny clams cooked with garlic, parsley and white wine.  Wonderful.  Tomorrow is the walk and BBQ at school, the another weekend gone!  xxoo me

Finally!  I thought this week would never end.  I probably say that every Friday but this one was really epically long because I've had a lousy cold.  My mother-in-law would say that something blocked my digestion or that I sat by an open window but I assure you it was one of those runny nosed little chillin at school who insist on touching me.  (There is one pre-K tyke who pats my head and says "carina" over and over.  It means "cute".  He also has temper tantrums every lesson when I won't read Simba.  We don't have Simba.  I think there's something wrong with him which would explain the head patting thing.)  I need a nap but undoubtedly the second I lie down THE NEIGHBORS will come home and start vacuuming or worse.  Anyhow I have things to do.  I have to iron a dress.  Tomorrow is the second funeral mass for my father-in-law.  They'll have one every month for a year but after this one my obligations are done.  There's only so much incense, repetitive prayers and uncomfortable seating I can handle.  Sunday is the Istathon, the 4.5 kilometer walk/run behind the school followed by a BBQ.  I've skipped all other school events outside of school hours so far this year, so I really should attend.  Plus there's food.

I was right.  I had just closed my eyes and THEY came home.  Today the kid's a Ninja.  In his bedroom right above my head.  I am plagued by children.  xxoo me

Damn them foul, sneaky bastards! They've tricked me!  Lured me in with two years of blue skies, breezes, mountain views, only to return to grey, grey and more grey.  This is the weather that depressed the hell out of me when we lived here in the 80's.  Damp, grey and hot or damp, grey and cool, or damp, grey and cold.  My laundry has been hanging up in the bedroom with the air conditioner on dehumidify for two days and it's still not dry!  Everything smells slightly moldy and I swear there are mushrooms growing somewhere in the apartment....  The past has taught me that the only way to escape is to go up to the mountains or down to the sea.  The entire Po Valley - the flatland that follows the Po river from the base of the mountains all the way to the Adriatic - is one soggy mess, and will stay so until spring.  Gah. 

All the wet weather has caused terrible floods in Genova, Parma and other areas.  The heavy autumn rains run down the over-built hillsides towards the sea, taking mud and detritus with them.  Mudslides took out roads and killed a dozen or so people.  Every few years this happens.  The canals that take the runoff need to be reinforced and enlarged, and though the monies to remedy the problem are there,in typical Italian style, everything is held up by red tape.  The companies that lost the bid to do the work sued the government saying that the winning company paid bribes to get the work.  That's undoubtedly true but 10 years and a couple floods later the people in these affected areas are getting seriously pissed off.  Can't say that I blame them. 

Off to empty out my bucket that collects the water from the dehumidifier.  Then I will crawl between my hopefully dry sheets and pray for a sunny day.  xxoo me

My blue-haired girl went to Milan yesterday with a friend.  It was an accreditation day at school so the students didn't need to attend.  They took the train up in the morning, shopped and ate all day, and came back yesterday evening.  I was fine, but her Italian buddy's parents messaged every hour, gave her emergency contact friends in the city, and even insisted that she send screen shots of where they were sitting or the shops they were in.  Talk about hovering.  Italian parents are soooo coddling!  I've heard horror stories of mothers still bathing their 12 year old sons in the women's showers of our local pool.  There are 3rd and 4th graders who can't tie their own shoes because mommy always does it.  When they ask me to tie their shoes I say "NO!".  It was getting so bad at school with mothers refusing to leave the premises each morning, that a new rule, "kiss and fly!", has had to be implemented.  It's ridiculous.  I had lunch with an old girlfriend yesterday who has a 24 year old son still at home.  He doesn't go to school because he doesn't want to study and doesn't work because he can't find something that's just right.  His parents are constantly making excuses for him.  Poor thing.  I asked why she didn't kick him out and she said he's still just a child.  Everybody has heard of the Italian mamma's boys who live at home until they are married, when the wife takes over for mamma.  Well it's worse than I thought!  It's girls too!  Our next door neighbors have their college grad at home.  Mom washes, and cooks, and irons for her while she sleeps all day and goes out with friends in the evenings.  I understand the costs of independent living and the lack of jobs.  (The economy here stinks.)  But really!  Have some pride and wash your own undies!  When I mention that I am permitting Grace to meet a friend in London for a few days this spring I think my Italian friends will have conniptions.  How will she change her socks without me?  xxoo me

My Baby!

Yesterday I started my new "get in shape and pain-free" routine.  I started Pilates in the morning which I'll do at the school twice a week and I had a "hands on" healing in the afternoon for my chronically sore hip.  The healer thing is way out there for my cynical self but I'm willing to give anything noninvasive a shot.  The gal who does this is a colleague who needs guinea pigs in order to get her license.  She's been studying and practicing for 10 years and swears by it, so What the Hell?  I found it very relaxing as all I had to do is lie there with my eyes closed while she "moved energy" into me.  She looked at me expectantly after the session but I felt nothing alas.  Instead of energy I practically fell asleep but I must say I slept better than usual last night!  I told her I am a tough nut to crack and lets give it some time and a few more sessions.  Am I supposed to feel guilty about not being cured?  Hmmmm.

Our Pilates instructor is a pretty youngin' from Brazil who came with her husband, the new Gym teacher at the school.  Our headmaster found him playing soccer on the beach when vacationing this summer and scooped him up.  (This in itself is another story for another time.  All speculation of course.)  So anywho, they are a lovely couple of Italian descent.  He speaks Italian and she is picking it up so our lessons are a mix Italian/Portuguese.   They are some of the few Italians who come back for more than just a visit!  Where the US is a country on immigrants, Italy is a country of emigrants.  Huge numbers of Italians left between the late 1800's and post WWI and then again post WWII.  Southern Italians headed north to the US and Canada.  Northern Italians headed south to Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay.  The mafia set up a retirement community in Santos Domingo and the people from Veneto all went to Australia.  That's an over simplification but pretty accurate.  Whereas the people who emigrated to North America and Australia did well and improved their lot in life, those that moved to South American weren't necessarily so lucky.  GP's Great Aunt (or Great-Great?) went to Argentina sometime between the wars and had a son who looked just like my father-in-law.  Years ago GP was there on business and visited Mingo and his wife who he said were living in dire conditions.  From that point on the family here would send them funds to keep their heads above water.  When they both passed away, Mingo's mother's jewels, three pairs of earring from the 20's I'm guessing, were returned to Italy and the only living heir, Aldo.  The other evening at dinner, these earrings were handed on to me and will obviously, eventually, go to Grace.  When I think of the road they've taken I'm rather humbled.  xxoo me

Gaaaahhhh!!!!  I just got home, an hour later than I should have, because got lost twice trying to find my way back from Grace's new tennis lesson location.  The last two years she has had lessons at a charming but shabby little club in the hills.  Spectacular views, unpretentious and 10 minutes from home.  It was great.  For reasons unbeknownst to me, some quarrel or another, Giorgio the coach has moved his lessons to another club farther away.  This club is very nice with fencing grounds and pool and bar and restaurant and and and.  It is 50 Euro more a year which is no big deal but it's a royal pain in the ass to get back from.  I can get there.  I just can't get back.  The club is in Pino which is a obscenely expensive suburb of Torino, connected by a tunnel that runs under the hills.  It's tiny in area, built on the steep slopes of the upper hills overflowing with about 9,000 stinking rich inhabitants.  Because it is soooo desired, homes and apartment buildings are packed into these hills like sardines and there are literally hundreds of narrow, windy roads twisting and turning and looping back on themselves or dead-ending or just going on and on and on.  While getting to Pino is easy because as the saying goes, "All roads lead to Rome, Pino", getting back out is next to impossible.  Imagine a plate of spaghetti.  In the middle is a meatball.  All the pieces of spaghetti end at the meatball but start all the Hell all over the place!  I've driven there twice now and have tried to memorize the road I came in on but can't for the life of me find it again to go back.  Of course there are no signs as that would make sense.  I turned up 20 different roads thinking, "This is THE ONE!"  It wasn't.  At one intersection there was an enormous truck trying to turn into a teeny road where unfortunately another driver was exiting.  There was no way either of them could back up so our entire row of cars coming in from still another road all had to reverse out to let the truck-blocking car in.  Driving here is freaking ridiculous.  She better turn into a damn good tennis player......

xxoo me

Check out this video. 

http://player.vimeo.com/video/70776419

This is also Italy in a nutshell.   xxoo me

My daughter's hair is blue and we went to the sea yesterday.   The only connection between those two statements is that she had her hair dyed while we were at the sea and actually, now that I think about it, the hair blue matches the color of the water at the beach perfectly.  If you drive directly south from Torino for an hour you get to Savona, a large ugly port city on the Ligurian coast.  From there you head west along the Via Aurelia, (the 2000 year old road built by the ancient Romans to help them with their world conquering), and after 15 minutes you come to Noli.  Noli is where GP's parents used to take him for their summer holidays when he was a child and it's one of the first places he took me when I came to Italy.  It's a charming little town with nice beaches, turquoise water, streets meandering up into the hills and a great castle hovering over it all.   It is also one of the last villages on this touristic coast with a healthy fishing industry.  Fishermen leave at sundown with large gas lights attached to the sterns of their wooden boats.  The lights attract the fish which they scoop up in big nets.   In the mornings the fishermen pull their boats up onto the beach and sell their catch at the open air market built right on the waterfront promenade.  When we arrived yesterday at 9:30 the last of the fish was being wrapped up and carted off.  Noli has a long history and back in the day it was part of Genova's Maritime Republic.  There are all sorts of wonderful old buildings, towers and squares and the best gelato shop ever.   I love it.

fishing boats on beach

the castle ramparts climb up the hills behind

cool building

beachfront promenade

We spent the entire day sleeping in the sun and swimming.  The water was incredibly clear and the temperature perfect.   I didn't want to leave.  I had to get in one last day of summer as the autumn rains should start soon.  They've been predicting rain for the last week but obviously it hasn't happened yet.


We got home in time to change and head out again.  We had dinner with another couple at a new restaurant/cocktail bar owned by an old friend.  I wanted it to be really good for their sake but it was rather disappointing.  Thankfully they did have a good selection of wines so all was not lost.  Didn't get home till after 1 o'clock and that's way past my bedtime.  Early night tonight!

I don't mind the blue hair at all by the way.  Xxoo me

This is Italy in a nutshell.   A colleague recently had her credit card information stolen.  Her Italian bank contacted her and said they had put a block on the card and gave her a list of suspicious expenditures which she confirmed were not hers.  Had this been in the US it would have pretty much ended there.  But no!  She then had to go to the local police station to report the crime.  She lives in the next town over from us, Troffarello.  Troffarello, though a town of 30,000+ people, only keeps its police and town offices open in the morning.  (cause no crimes are committed after lunch apparently) As this was impossible for her, she went to the police in our town after school.  There she took a number, waited for an hour or more whilst 3 employees drank coffee and discussed tomato sauce.  She finally got in to see an officer who took her report, writing by hand all the illegal charges made on her card.  He then stamped it a few times and told her to take it to the bank.  Mind you this is the same info the bank had sent her, which is how she had it in the first place.  But now it had pretty stamps!  Then the bank said she had to cut her card in half, take a picture of it, and send the photo to them.  This selfsame card they had just cancelled so it couldn’t have been used anyhow.  (Trust no one is the Italian motto.  Not even yourselves!)  Back and forth, back and forth.  Italy is redundancy taken to the highest power.   xxoo me