A typical day

My Dad asked me, "tell me about a typical day." I thought about that. No day is typical yet. Every day is different. There are some consistencies now that we've moved into our house. We have coffee in the morning, Jim goes to work, I walk the dogs, I do various other things that I have a hard time accounting for, Jim comes home from work, we drink wine and eat dinner on the terrace, we go to bed. But that's pretty much what our days were like in Seattle, except that I was more gainfully employed and the weather wasn't reliable enough to eat outside every night. And that description misses the nuances of living in Italy where each day is different and something disturbing, funny, crazy, or heartwarming happens.

Take today for example. I drove Jim to work because I needed the car. I needed the car because after three days at the house I need to come off the hill. You see, my life right now is fairly limited, you might even say it's monastic. The simplicity and solitude is nice, and I enjoy my walks and my time studying Italian, but after three days I need to see and do something different, even if it is just getting groceries in Sarzana. Today, I actually had a few tasks, but before we leave to drive Jim to work, I receive a call from Arturo, the handyman. Amazingly, I manage to understand that he is coming to the house, although I'm not exactly sure why. He wants to come in the morning, but we agree on 3 pm. My first successful phone conversation in Italian.

After dropping Jim off at work, I drive to Lerici and park just outside the no-drive zone. I walk the dogs into town and after several altercations with other dogs, I decide to let the dogs loose on the breakwater, which I had done many times in the past. "Signora. Signora. Signora!" Damn, she's talking to me. I turned. "Lah, lah, lah, lah, cani! Lah, lah, lah, lah non permesso! Lah, lah, lah, lah ...." I don't understand much Italian yet, but I do understood that she doesn't think I should let the dogs off-leash on the breakwater. I put the dogs on leash and walk into town.

I visit our real estate agent in hopes that she can help me figure out the 14-page, 4-part contract that arrived in the mail from the electricity company. Fortunately, Alessia says she will take care of it. A good thing for me, because I had started to translate the forms using Google Translate, but when I got to the part that translated to "this form needs to be filled out by the Chamber of Commerce," I knew I needed help.

Back at the car, I wonder what those papers are under my rear windshield wiper. It can't be a ticket because I parked in this spot many times while living in Lerici. It is a ticket. After wandering around, I see a new sign that says as of today only residents can park here. Crap!

I need to get away and the dogs haven't had much exercise, so I drive to a spot on the Magra River that Bruno and Bella love. It's an estuary full of ducks and Bruno swims after one group until they take flight and then he swims after another. No one is around except a few guys fishing in the river, but a man suddenly appears and starts talking to me. I understand from him that there are lots of ducklings around. He's concerned about the dogs hurting them. I'm feeling a little beat up today, but this man is very nice and I understand his concern. I call in the dogs, and we head for home.

At 3 p.m., as promised, Arturo shows up. He's with another man, who turns out to be an electrician who our landlord has sent to look at the dishwasher, which caught fire last Sunday. Jim and I had been sitting on the terrace when we heard a strange popping noise from inside the house. When I walked into the kitchen, the dishwasher, which we have yet to use because we have only a few dishes, was spewing smoke and sparks. The electrician confirmed that the dishwasher was rotto, broken. The two men leave but not before Arturo hands me a tray of produce from his garden. It weighs about 10 pounds, and the vegetables and herbs are absolutely beautiful. I like Arturo. He's very patient with my limited Italian. If I don't understand him, he just gets closer to me and talks louder. He also loves Bruno. When he called me earlier in the day, he said "Come sta Bruno?" When he arrived, he got down on his knees and pulled Bruno's head into his chest and gently rubbed it.

Jim comes home. We drink a bottle of wine on the terrace and watch the sunset through the pine trees. We have pasta with a sauce of Arturo's fresh vegetables. The end of another typical day.