Changing Currents

Changing Currents

This has been a summer of change, rethink, and re-do. On this, the 10th anniversary of owning this house, I'd planned to celebrate this milestone here with my hubby along with our our 20th anniversary, kayaking the cerulean blue waters of Sardegna, stuffing ourselves silly on my housekeeper, Giovanna's addictive fried bread, and reaching a few peaks in the Gran Sasso together. Of course, we all know what quashed those plans. I managed to be here despite the little virus, but events for which I'd planned shifted and changed constantly and rapidly. I felt like Bugs Bunny in the cartoons in which Yosemite Sam shoots at his feet and yells, "Dance, varmint!"

But, as the Rolling Stones told us "you can't always get  what you want....but you may find, you get what you need."

I believe in angels. Not necessarily the ones we're shown with flowing gowns and large wings. But Forces. Currents. In my cosmology, we're chucked into a river of sorts at birth. A confluence of currents into which we can flow on our way through life. Or miss them and really screw up. Our personal Moses effect. It's our job to navigate the currents of this river and figure out which ones are going to get us down to the take out. When canoeing with him, my husband has taught me that for each rapid we approach, we set a line and paddle like hell. If you've set the right line and hold it, you run the rapid beautifully. If not, think fast and adjust faster. Figure it out quickly. And be sure you're not going against the current. Sometimes you have a good line, but something unexpected forces you to adjust - higher or lower water level than you'd anticipated, a fallen branch in the way, a change in the river that happened since you last on it that may have altered, strengthened, or weakened the current. 

This summer has been the summer of changing currents and "figuring it out". Adjusting. There were new and unexpected currents, rapids, holes the entire time: purse stolen, the need to replace documents, this leading to the discovery that I'd lost my residency status leading to the need to consult a tax expert. leading to the need to confirm that I could still own my car...and on and on. This didn't even include the twists and turns of the plans relating to the reason I was here in the first place: to replace part of the house's sewer system. I struggled to find a new set of lines, to feel where the current was, how it was moving, and how to deal with it. The wrong choice and - bloop - you flip. You swim. You can get pretty banged up that way. 

Here's where the angels come in (you were wondering how all of this river talk related to that idea, didn't you?) Sometimes if you pause for a split second, breathe, and let the current take you - just long enough to feel where you need to be, where it wants you to be - you can be guided to a new line that takes you where you need to go. You get back on track. Maybe it wasn't a smooth ride. But it may have been an instructive one. Maybe you discovered a new line or new lunch rock or swimming hole. Maybe you improved your cross draw on your "bad" side. Maybe that's just what you needed and didn't know it. But the angels did. They pushed you into the right current. 

This summer I learned that sometimes my Italian was surprisingly good enough to get me through a situation and discouragingly bad enough to make it impossible to get through others without a lot of help. I discovered a new service station with a nice guy who patiently led me through the inspection process for my new "bombola" - gas tank for the GPL gas. I learned that the carabinieri can be really nice when they are taking your robbery report. I learned that there is such a thing as a pear and gorgonzola pizza and that it is yummy. I learned more about Italian real estate and tax laws than I ever wanted to know. But that I needed to know. You learned these things because your angels, the currents that move you along, pushed you into line. 

Like paddling, you may end up wet, tired, and bruised. You may not have gotten what you wanted, but from "figuring it out", from working over and over to stay upright, you got exactly what you needed. The angels steered you there. Damn them. 

The Figs of Wrath

The Figs of Wrath

            Ok. So not really wrath. Maybe a little wrath at times. Or great annoyance. But definitely figs. 

    This has been a summer of change and of the unexpected. Of a different experience of this place and its people. The entire year, of course, has been one unexpected occurrence after another. Mostly due to the unexpected appearance of a spiky little micoscopic ball called Mr. Corona. 

    For most of the spring I thought I would not be here at all. My May 14 flight was cancelled, exchanged for a voucher to use at some point in the uncertain future. That I am here at all is a minor miracle of a confluence of circumstances: 

online classes, an affordable flight, and some blind faith in my ability to survive it surrounded by 200 + strangers in masks of various effectiveness.

    But the biggest difference in this summer and summers past is the activity of people here. There are few folks strolling in an evening passeggiata, the summer festivals are gone. Our own eagerly anticipated San Donato Festival was scaled back to include only the religious part of the event. There were no vendors of tacky plastic blow up toys, or cellophane sleeves of lupini beans or peanuts. No food trucks with people lining up for a porchetta sandwich or il hamburger con patatine fritte. The local restaurants have dispensed with open freezers full of artigianale gelato. I have to drive 15 minutes to the nearest gelateria. It's great gelato. But still. I used to be able to walk to the local Bar Viale and have a coppa piccola with my favorite combination: choccolato fondante e pistacchio. I could sit outside and eat it while listening to the older men argue over cards or yell at the calcio game on the outside TV. 

There is not the never ending urging to come inside and have coffee and un dolce. I don't have to worry about refusing to keep from getting fat. For the first time in 10 years, doors are mostly closed to invitations to step through them.

    Plus....because I was not here in June, I missed the first fig harvest. Can I tell you how much I love fresh figs? Back in the US, I scour grocery stores to see which ones stock them. I buy as much as I can eat before they get rotten and then go back and buy more. I cut them up and drizzle miele di castagna - chestnut honey- all over them. It is my favorite snack food. The next harvest is in September, It is touch and go as to whether or not it will occur before I fly back to the US.

    But two days ago, on one of my bi-weekly run/slogs down the hilly country road west of town, my eyes alighted on deep purple globes nestled among the signature crenolated green leaves of a fig tree. Ripe figs! I noted their location and sped (my version)) along. 

    The return journey of the run is hilly - with most of it going up. But this day, I was on a mission that was more than working out my cardio vascular system and strengthening my glutes. I was going to harvest figs! My eyes were trained on every tree as I slogged along, making sure I wouldn't miss my target. It came into sight just as I had anticipated - just beyond a farm with a vast garden full of tomato vines supported by tepee shaped bamboo trusses. I stopped and began to fill my pockets. I pulled one, two, three, a half dozen figs off the tree. I grasped the branches and bent them towards me. I ripped the fruit from them and stuffed every pocket. When there was no more room, I emptied my water bottle and began to fill it. Rip. Tear. It was as if I was gathering all that I missed. All that had been lost as a result of those spikey balls. All I wanted to regain and with which to fill myself. I was trying with a vengeance to recoup it all. I became frantic with desire for those figs. I cried and tore and stuffed, giving way to my grief and anger.. When I was laden as far as I could get, I continued the run, being oh so careful on the gravely parts of the road not to slip and fall and squish my treasure. My symbols of the normalcy of past summers. 

    

Sunset after a storm

Flowers on the Terrazzo

    I've now washed and set out the figs on the table. I hope they're ripe. I hope they're edible. I hope they will somehow fill the hole that has been left by all that is missing this summer. 

     If not, if the figs prove only table decoration, I've realized that there is a lot that is still here: sunsets, the flowers on my terrazzo, the mountains - that are always here as a reminder that even with change, even with the unexpected, there is constancy, strength, permanence.

A Gran Sasso View from Monte Camarda

Mountain Reflections

 There are new and different and beautiful changes, too, like the new fountain on the belevedere. 

There is hope that change does not mean end. It means.... maybe that we harvest things in a new way and at a different time. Maybe we just enjoy what is there differently. Maybe.....

Summiting a Peak

Notes from Your Correspondent on the Ground

Notes from Your Correspondent on the Ground

Around the Corner in Castiglione Messer Raimondo

The Journey: 

 I am heading back to Italy. Americans are not allowed in at this point. But I am an Italian citizen and officially registered as a resident in my little town. There is a house to care for. There is my soul to heal. I go. 

Curbside at HIA

Harrisburg

Wide open, empty space in an airport? I've rarely flown out of Harrisburg "International" so I can't say how different this is. All I can say is that I've never seen any airport I've been in so empty. 

The staff was so relaxed, friendly, and REAL (as in - like real people-to-people interaction not official veneer mode) - you almost felt like you were at a spa instead of an airport. Yes - that  surreal!

The plane was so empty the flight attendant actually said "Go ahead and sit wherever you want so you can maintain social distance." Everyone moved to optimize the space. Everyone wore a mask. 

And then.....

Dulles!

I thought having my second stop in a small-ish airport would also make this leg somewhat laid back. I thought I could ease my way gradually up to the larger airport that was my last layover in Frankfurt. 

But NO!

It was chaos. 

It felt like the airport and United staff were caught off guard with a renewed crush of travelers (or Europeans trying to get the heck out of Dodge) and they were making stuff up as they went along. There was a crowd of people going every which way, trying to determine which line they should be in. There were at least 4:

2 for boarding

1 for a "document check" for people holding American passports

1 (or so) for a document check for people holding non-American passports.

And some scattered milling about between all of them. 

It was hard to tell which line was which. You couldn't board without the "document check".  So even  if your seat number was called for boarding, if you got to the front of the boarding line without the stamp on your boarding pass that verified you'd been "checked", you were sent to the back of the "document check" line. 

Like me.

As a result, I was the VERY last one to board the plane.

The check-in guy turned to the gate attendant and said,

"We're good to go. Master-bruno is here."

"Mastr-oh-bwon-oh", I corrected him.

He was still looking at the gate attendant.

"Yeah. Master-bruno is the last one."

But I have to say, once we were high in the air and I looked out the window into the clouds, the joy of being airborne was delicious. 

The Plane

Full. Packed. No possible social distancing. The only thing about it that looked COVID-minded was that everyone was wearing masks. Most properly. 

Of course, United DID give me the option to re-book if this situation didn't suit my taste. 

Right. 

From one mess to another. 

United had already nearly sabotaged the trip by re-routing my return journey with an impossible connection. Without telling me. 

Anyone for a 10:20 AM flight out of Rome, with a connection in Brussels at 10:10 AM? 

i didn't realize I had booked time travel. 

I was not initially allowed to check in because of this impossibility. An unhappy Italian woman is not a pleasant Italian woman. The travel agent with whom I'd booked changed my return itinerary within an hour. 

So - I subjected myself to the sardine can that was UA flight 989 and sat in an aisle seat facing the aisle, creating as much breathing room as possible between me and my fellow passengers. 

I didn't eat or drink anything during the flight. I'd brought my own, thank you. I ate when no one else did, pulling up my mask just to put food in my mouth and then pulling it down to chew. When the rest of the passengers ate, all simultaneously with their faces uncovered, I tried to hold my breath for as long as possible between taking in air. Could they not have staggered the feeding so that 200+ people did not go naked faced in a small metal box all at once? 

In no time I stunk to high heaven of alcohol wipes and hand sanitizer. 

Shortly after the feeding ended, the flight attendants passed our forms we were required to fill out that asked for our names, destinations, contact information, and certifying that we had no COVID symptoms and hadn't had any for the past 14 days. Um. Shouldn't that have been asked BEFORE we boarded the plane? What if I said, "Yeah, I have a fever and chills and have had a dry cough for the past week."? What were they going to do? Issue me a parachute and oxygen mask and boot me out the door? 

Usually I nod off shortly after the plane reaches cruising altitude. Not this time. Difficult to sleep with a continuously screaming baby (how do they have the stamina to do that for 7 hours?) and an unhappy dog somewhere within 5 rows of mine. Plus, I didn't want to chance slumping over onto the giant man sitting next to me in the middle seat. He should have had his own plane, never mind his own row! He might have been a little peeved if I'd drooled on him in my sleep, as well.  I didn't want to chance it. My only choice was to lean away, into the din. I did finally fall into a deep sleep. Only to be nudged shortly after by this same man so his travel companion in the window seat could exit to go to the bathroom. Timing is everything. 

Frankfurt

Ahhhh....Europe. They've been dealing with this COVID thing longer and with more organization than the US. Everyone at the airport was masked, except those eating.Most even wore them properly - covering both mouth AND nose.Some people even wore both masks and face shields. I gave that piece of equipment a D-, though. I ditched them early on. They're ok if you enjoy the feeling of walking through thick fog, guessing what was a foot in front of you. 

Marks for standing 1 1/2 meters apart were everywhere. Seats sealed off so you could not sit directly next to anyone. 

Every 15 minutes or so there was an announcement about travel safety:

"We would like to remind you that it is obligatory to wear a covering over your nose and mouth at all times. And to remain 1.5 meters distant from other travelers. Thank you for your cooperation." 

No one pointed an automatic weapon at the loudspeaker and threatened to blow it to bits for taking away their liberty. How quaint. 

I allowed myself to purchase food and drink at an airport eatery. Then found a secluded place where I could eat. Airport food never tasted so scrumptious. I realized I had eaten only a plastic container of rice and broccoli and a few cherries since I'd left home 16 hours ago. 

I settled in to wait for my flight to Rome to board.

And waited. And waited. And waited. For 4 hours at Gate A62 - the departure gate listed on my boarding pass and all the departures boards throughout the airport. 

1:30 PM. local time. Boarding time for my 2 PM flight.

I listened for my group to be called. 

But,wait. They're giving boarding instructions in German and....not Italian. Some language I don't understand. ???? And there are too many numbers for this flight to match my flight number. I walk to the gate counter. The flight listed on the board above it is going to Warsaw, Poland.

Whaaaaaaaa..............???

Frantically, I try to open the United app I've just installed on my phone. It is taking forever to access flight information. So I hoist my backpack on aching shoulders, put the rolling suitcase wheels into 5th gear, and race to find the nearest flight departure board. And race. And race. Putting every bit of conditioning of thrice weekly, 3 1/2 mile runs to maximum use. Think it's hard shopping in a mask? Try running with a 15 -16 pound weight on your back pulling an equal or greater amount of weight behind you. And this gal ain't no spring chicken, honey. 

Finally -like the Lady of the Lake - a departure board appears ahead of me. My flight is listed -  leaving from Gate A1.

It is now 1:40. More running. But is it a straight line down the terminal to A1? Heck, no! There are at least 2 turn-offs into new, loooooong corridors. Speedier running. 

At 1:50 I finally see people gathered up ahead. Through the glasses which have now slipped down to my upper lip, I can barely make out the sign above the check-in counter. I think it says "A1". And I think the destination is Roma Fiumicino. 

Yes!

I scoot into the first line I see. It's raining like crazy outside. And gusty. Will we even take off?

Yes, again!

As soon as we do, I close my eyes. When I open them again, I look out the oval window to see it framing the red terracotta rooftops and ochre fields of the Italian countryside. 

I'm home!

When I enter my actual home 2 1/2 hours later, I unmask myself for the first time in over 24 hours. There are deep grooves behind my ears and red crescents under my eyes.I strip naked and throw my clothes into a plastic garbage bag, including my shoes. I never want to see them again. I shower, then march straight to the kitchen and gorge myself on the salami, cheese, and fresh tomatoes my property manager has left for me. After which I collapse in bed.

The next morning I part the shutters of the front bedroom to open the scene on the Gran Sasso Mountains glowing purple-grey in the new sun. Birds glide on the updrafts rising from the valley below them. Olive groves on their slopes shine silver-green in full leaf. 

The church bells start to ring.

My hungry soul begins to be sated.

I would walk through fire for this. 

The Gran Sasso Mountains (un photo-shopped)