In Love with France, At Home In Italy

Looks like paradise and a great place to have to oneself for a few weeks, no? Well, it pretty much is. But only by day. The other night I went down to turn off the light in the kitchen only to find that it had been taken over by flying and crawling aliens. They were everywhere, and I had to jump out of my delicious torpor and into a killing frenzy. Last year’s invasion of the flying ants had resumed! They had made an initial appearance the other day, but I had taken what I thought were definitive extreme measures to reclaim my turf. (Just goes to show that the Ancient Greeks did not have a monopoly on hubris.) I had removed all temptations from the counter and ferreted them out of the most unexpected places. I think the other members of the family might be surprised to know that they are not the only ones in the house to love coffee. The biggest swarm of them was on top of and under the machine. But there were some tea-totalers, too, who had decided to set up residence in the...

This toilet has gone totally Italian! Number 9 on the Hit Parade of things that went guasto (kaput/busted) while D and G were away on vacation was J's toilet seat. How did it happen?  Another "mistero"--that's the Italian language showing how easy it can be to trick the unsuspecting speaker of English into a spelling goof. Now I don't want to accuse anyone, but I noticed it  "dopo"("after") our very thorough, "robusta" cleaner, the former Moldovan surgical nurse, came to clean. J had naively gone off to Rome for two days to visit the kids, leaving his toilet seat behind and vulnerable. On his return, it had become a dangerous weapon.

So my old friend from college naively writes to ask, "How is it going in hot, sunny Italy?" I think he was expecting me to say that everything was going great. But that would be a lie. This was my more-than-you-want-to know answer: All hell has been breaking loose here, which always seems to happen when our architect friends on whom we depend to keep us out of deep doodoo go away for vacation. To start, our pool has been the victim of a hostile takeover by wild animals called "nutria" who consider it their private Club Med and communal latrine, pooping all over our parade. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. Once I get my sense of humor back, it might make a funny story, but to have so many things and systems go wrong at once is quite a challenge: "error" messages on the hot water heater, a short circuit in the new outdoor lights (useful to watch the animals cavorting in the pool), suddenly no water coming into any indoor or outdoor faucet, the fri...

Here is the increasingly hysterical exchange of texts in which my husband tries to get help from D about our wild-animals-in-the-pool problem. To appreciate the juxtaposition between the relative calm of our BN (before-nutria) and AN (after-nutria) life, I include the innocuous text that preceded all the trouble. In all fairness, I should say that our best friend and architect D's level of English is right up there with J's level of Italian, but here, only D has the courage to write in a foreign language. D to J: Ok for dinner tomorrow at 8 pm to Cecilia? J:There are 2 living animals in our pool today. They happily swim and poop in the water. They are now hiding in the filter baskets--very much alive.  How do we get them out? D:What kind of animals they are? How much big? J:About 30-40 cm with long tail. They make a cooing, squealing sound. And they are good swimmers. They swam under water when they saw me--then hid in the filter--one animal in each filter. Water rats?  I...

I was concerned that I might have been taking a wrong turn by mentioning the 50’s TV show, “Dragnet” in two recent postings. After all, who but a Baby Boomer was likely to remember that show? Well, (maybe) not to worry. The latest issue of “Vanity Fair” just arrived with an article titled “Pepe Le Perp” about the Dominique Strauss-Kahn case. The pullout quote said: “IT WAS REMARKABLE HOW RAPIDLY DSK’S ALLEGED ATTACK WAS PERCEIVED AND POPULARIZED AS INTRINSICALLY, INIMICALLY FRENCH.” But what caught my eye was a reference to none other than Jack Webb and “Dragnet.” The article mused about DSK’s arrest: “So accustomed are we to the privileges of rank and authority conferring royal immunity that seeing the long arm of law enforcement snag a high-ranker, like an outfielder reaching over the fence to rob a home run, restored one’s faith in the virtues taught us by Jack Webb in “Dragnet.” As I said in an earlier post, Webb was a man ahead of his time. But he is turning out to be a man fo...

OHMYGOSH! You would not believe the size of the unwelcome visitor I just very carefully cupped and ushered out. Remember all those little scorpions we've occasionally seen around and wondered, where's your daddy? Well, he just appeared on the floor of the guardaroba:yikes! We are not talkin' small! I didn't have my glasses on when I walked by this giant black thing, thinking it might be a very big beetle. But once I put them on, uh-uh. Somehow I managed to get the bedroom light on, open the door, turn on the hall light, open the Smiling Buddha window and send him elsewhere. But my special cup took a beating in the process. Never fear, however. I have repaired it and it is now ready for further action. Oy! But better in the guardaroba than in the bedroom. I am thinking that he may have come in with the towels and clothes I carried up from the pool. I prefer to think that he lives elsewhere. I would have liked to have taken his photo just to prove that this is no ...

Buona sera, Thanks for the encouragement and positive feedback about my baby owl story. I am actually hoping for a lot less adventure around that pool--especially when I have to stick my hand in the baskets to dump out the killer-sized creatures (often with giant pincers!) that get filtered in there. The drowned rodents are especially unwelcome finds:ugh-a-roony!  Fortunately Farmer G was here when I found the first one. When he came over to have a look, he was very perplexed by my distress. "Ma lui è morto"--"but he's dead, so what's the big hairy deal?" Then he calmly tossed the contents of the basket over the same fence where I had previously put the baby owl. But for the next little mouse or whoever he was, I was on my own.  Right after the owl adventure I figured I  might as well go for broke and look in those nasty pool "collection" baskets. Fortunately the fates were kind and it was just the usual suspects. I think I am going to wait for ...

Just to be sure I was not hallucinating about everything I said in my earlier post that made a loose association between the positive way I have been "marked" by my friends and the 50's TV program, "Dragnet," I did a little research about the "Dragnet" music and about that image of the hand that had imprinted itself on my now 64-year-old mind, which as it turned out, was not playing tricks on me.  In addition to the distinctive "Dum da dum dum" theme music, officially called "Fugue for (Sgt.) Friday," Wikepedia cites a hallmark of the "Dragnet" show that came at the end of each episode:  A sweaty, glistening left hand appeared, holding what would turn out to be a stamp for indenting metal; a heavy hammer struck the top of the handle of the stamp, twice, loudly; the stamp was removed to reveal the imprint "VII" (over which the words "Mark" and "Limited" were superimposed on a title card), ref...

Dear Ones, I had tried to promise myself to lay off the iphone and computer, but my addiction proved too strong. While alone here, as the Principessa, I am the only one who would berate me for this;however, I have decided to cut myself some slack.---xxx,d ON COEXISTING (RELATIVELY) PEACEFULLY WITH THE UMBRIAN FAUNA If a bug is where I don't want it to be, before resorting to violence, I like to give it a chance to go elsewhere. The smart ones seem to know when it's time to take a powder. Then anyone who sticks around too long after being invited out ends up making both of us sad. 

So this morning I was about to dig into these figs when a De Poitiers-esque light bulb went off: "Wait! You can't eat those yet! Not without immortalizing them in this perfect morning light." This is the result. Now on my declining computer, every one of these appears upside down, sideways, or worse, so who knows what machinations you will have to go through to have a look? Just don't get anything of yours (that can't be untwisted) in a twist. first figs in the morning sun Lapping up the luscious sunshine A closer look... The breakfast of Umbrian champions (and artists) This last one is my favorite. I took some artistic license by moving around some of U’s art supplies, but they did not seem to mind.

Just in from the French transport authority:a once-in-a-lifetime chance to follow EN PERMANENCE, on line, the daily disruptions of the Paris transport system during which all trains, trams and buses will be PERTURBES. But after the summer, they reassure me that everything will be even more efficient and comfortable, and I will no longer be perturbed.  Begin forwarded message: From: "RATP" <contact@ratp.trk.fr> Date: July 12, 2011 7:27:17 PM CEDT To: <donatella.de.poitiers@gmail.com> Subject: Madame de Poitiers, retrouvez toutes les infos sur les travaux de la RATP Reply-To: "RATP" <contact@ratp.trk.fr>

Here's what I did yesterday. Maybe it will become a blog if I can ever get back into the swing of how to post things. No one has seen it yet. I wrote it during the course of a long day. Here goes: Of course, even on our deserted so-called road, who knew it would be rush hour en route to the treno? Farmer G shows up at our gate with his Zappa, maybe to give us a long-awaited lesson in how to use one. But if we miss this train, we are screwed, and conversations with Farmer G have their own leisurely country rhythm. Contadino wisdom takes years to acquire, and nearly as many to impart.  To most people, the idea of a day in Rome sounds exciting. To an agoraphobic, aspiring contadina like me,  it is cause for anxiety. But I am wearing my "I am calm" socks, so all is well--so far. J has business there and we have been invited to lunch at the Academy of Rome, the kind of offer that does not come every day. I will not have any trouble amusing myself during the hou...

I’m thinking of how Persephone’s eating of one pomegranate seed bound her to her new home in Hades. At certain times of the year, like her, I am able to go back and forth between homes. For me, however, this is paradise, and to mark my reconnection to my *new/old home, I need to start weeding. Then I know I am really here. *I feel as if I need to think about why I found myself using “new/old” twice in my first blog of the summer. In terms of the new/old, gauzy, flowered culottes mentioned above, I realize they have some connections to the “in love with France, at home in Italy” subject of my blog. The bottom half of an old outit that I had bought in Paris when I was teaching there in 1988, this resuscitated garment was on its maiden voyage to my new home in Umbria.  It is also new/old in that this is its first trip anywhere in a  l-o-n-g time. During the decades it was waiting for both of us to end up here, all of the elastic went out of its adorable, smocked waistband, l...

Where’s the “What not to Wear” police when you need them? Just off the plane and into the Umbrian countryside, I toss on my cherry-patterned apron over my *new/old, gauzy, flowered culottes as I decide to check out the vegetable garden.  In addition to the surprise of the 4’ towers of lettuce and radicchio—this is what happens when nobody picks at the right moment—I am excited at my first encounter with fava beans and sweet peas ready to be gobbled. (This, by the way, is the same formerly baby-sized radicchio around which I had been enthusiastically making rock frames over the March vacation.)  As I inspect everything more closely—especially the insect kingdom in action—I notice loud buZZing around me that suggests that I, myself, am of intense interest to some killer-sized fauna. I wonder, “Why are they so attracted to me?” When I looked down at my fruity, flowery get-up, I had to laugh:they must be mistaking me for lunch! Trinny and Susannah would ne...

Nature has made up her mind. And there is no arguing with her. This year there are cherries. Last year, almost none. To make matters worse, our better cherry tree bit the dust last year, leaving only its weak sister, behind. Well, we underestimated all of these ladies, and the tree that we dissed has more than risen to the occasion. Of course, the best ones are at the tippy-top. But let's not be greedy. There's plenty for everyone, including the birds who instinctively know when to come calling for their share:the day everything is at its peak. And if you don't beat them to the punch, no cherries for you! We filled our bowl to the brim, and decided to take our chances about tomorrow. My late mother-in-law to whom we owe our ability to have done this renovation used to love the song, "Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries." We are dedicating this bowl to her, and tomorrow we will see if we end up with just "a bowl" of cherries...or several.    

Sent:  Sunday, August 01, 2010 To:  DF, my gourmet-cooking neighbor Subject:  PLUMS galore! Missing you! Well, here I am, all by myself (except for a million plums), drinking a Finkbrau alcohol-free beer, and thinking what all these plums might become in the magic hands of you-know-who. In fact, I have a dream of cooking with you here in this beautiful kitchen. Hope it comes true.     In the meantime, thank you for being so generous to J with your cooking gifts. There's lots of good food here, but your "restaurant" is still Number One with me!---baci, d PS: I didn't pick for two days, and look what happened! In response to my plum photos, DF wrote: What great pictures! I think you have to get a cart, a babushka, and your plums and go to market! You’ll never be able to use them all. But look on line for plum compote recipes as well as all the baked ones. It’s been fun for me to have your husband to table...he loves to eat, unlike B, who eats to li...

Well, the idea was that the new, slow-growing grass that they planted (and had to REplant after all the ants carried the seeds to THEIR house) would overtake all the weeds and the not-so-good grass. I was plenty skeptical, but waited a while before stepping in to try to help that fantasy along. One of my lifelong aspirations has been not to have to weed our ever-deteriorating US driveway, and here I am on our Italian terrazza in the same boat. Oh, well...   Actually, I recognize a certain symmetry, here. At the  beginning of my 3 months at the house, J caught me on camera while I was fiddling around with the plants along the low stone wall that flanks our entry driveway. So what's so relaxing about weeding? Well, it seems to be my way of settling in and reconnecting. I know that when I get back to the States, one of the first things I will do is to start puttering around with the plants, both indoors and out. And yes, I'll probably resume weeding what can only loosely be ...

Hi, I forgot to ask you if the Oprah magazine was a hit or a miss. I am currently trying to transfer my messes to the homes of other people, if I can get away with it, so let me know if you want any more magazines or if I should donate them elsewhere.  It was worth all the years of the magazines just to adopt the life-changing concept of the "risk-for-the-week" that I got out of the issue I loaned you. It was part of a letter from a recovering anxiety-ridden hypochondriac/agoraphobic who worked herself up to being less phobic about life, and to being able to handle a risk for the week. Sometimes I now even take two or three risks, and so far, so good!  January 30, 2011

An article by Rachel Donadio in the Jan. 22, 2011 New York Times caught my eye: "Surreal--a Soap Opera Starring Berlusconi." These lines particularly hit home: "Italy remains a land where complex networks of connections and family ties can still, as in feudal times, count more than merit or position, whether in getting a job or a bank loan. In my experience, Italians have a highly sophisticated understanding of power dynamics, a keen sense of whom you have to say yes to, and with whom you can get away with saying no." We have been learning this the hard way, but we are lucky to have Italian friends who are generous enough to teach us how things work here.  Another entertaining source of wisdom on the subject is Beppe Severgnini's "Bella Figura." He says that Italy is neither hellish ("too much style" for that), nor heaven ("too unruly"). "Let's just say that Italy is an offbeat purgatory, full of proud, tormented souls ...