for the Cornwell's to live in Maberga. Or at least a couple really good neighbors.
Let me back track a bit.
Sunday morning....."Ahhhhhh...last day of nothing-to-do-holiday before obligations begin", I thought as I stayed dreamily in my cozy loft bed at 7.30am.
"BOW BOW BOW BOW WOW WOW BOW", "AHHWOOO AHHHOOOOO WOOOO" howled the dogs in unison letting me know that their holiday was over and they were back on guard.
The men were outside ready to finish the work of taming our land that they had started while we were away.
Franco wielding the weed whacker and Augusto manning the 'clean this shit up, Lynn' fire, they got right on task.
Wait. Not right on task.
First Augsto broke my balls about all the crap that David and I had left lying around on the terraces that made his job that much more difficult. Sleepily I said, "si si si. Do you want a beer?" which sounded like "thu you wanth a beah?"(but in italian) due to the Mount Etna sized canker sores I have on the tip of my tongue (don't ask. they come with all my encounters with international travel and family).
"oh, a beer. After."
So I went to make some coffee, trying to ignore the burning of plastic pots that had been 'left lying around our land'. Hmm. Lesson learned.
Half way through my second cup Augusto came to the patio where I was sitting guiltily like the freakin Queen drinking coffee while they cleaned up our mess aka: our land.
"Here. Put these in the kitchen, out of the sun. I'll put them in your orto when we're done weed whacking." said Augusto.
"ummm. ok." said Augusto doubtfully.
On my third cup of coffee Augusto came up to the patio again this time with a tray of pepper, lettuce and cucumber plants and said, "hurry up. These are already wilting."
Obviously Sunday morning coffee was over, there was shit to be done...I mean, if you want to live here you don't just sit around drinking coffee. Obviously.
"Now thu you wanth a beah?"
So Augusto went to watch the fire with his beer while Franco continued his fight against mother nature and the clueless Cornwells with the whacker. I put on my rubber gloves, grabbed up all those little wilting plants and headed to the orto.
This morning I woke up with spasms in my back that make the Mount Etna canker sores on my tongue seem like Sunday coffee on the patio.