So I just got out of the tub, pulled my night shirt over my head and a scorpion fell to the floor...from the t-shirt I'd just put on. That's nice.
Apart from that excitement, there really hasn't been any - excitement, I mean. I know I've been neglecting my blog, friends. Sorry about that. But, well, you have to have a life in order to write about it.
Along those lines, tomorrow I'm gettin me a little life. Those of you who know about this plan- keep the traps shut, per favore. You never know who is listening, or reading, as it were. I'll have the camera and will be sure to report back. I promis. Maybe.
Did that scorpion climb into my shirt while it was folded in my armadio or did he just find a soft, white bed while I was in the bath? Either way, it's a little disconcerting. I might have a tough time falling asleep tonight. You?
a presto
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
so much going on
So, I just got one of those gentle nudge emails from Wayne (of the comments). I guess I've been a little lax in my blogging, huh?
Sorry about that. You see, I've picked up my knitting needles after months of non-use and I've been working night and day, day and night with no time to sleep, or work, or clean, or make jewelry, or blog, or anything at all. I've been working on this
A masterpiece, no?
As you can see, it's almost done so I should be able to resume normal life soon.
Sorry about that. You see, I've picked up my knitting needles after months of non-use and I've been working night and day, day and night with no time to sleep, or work, or clean, or make jewelry, or blog, or anything at all. I've been working on this
A masterpiece, no?
As you can see, it's almost done so I should be able to resume normal life soon.
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
wet gold
David and I spent the morning getting water to come to our house. What did you do?
What? Water from the city, you ask?
Oh no no no, don't be silly. Just because we have some tubes and a water meter doesn't mean we have the city water. No. Let's remember that it took 3 years to get those installed, so actually getting the city water to run through them and into the house...well, who can say how long that will take.
No no, David and I spent the morning in active guerrilla style combat finding who's taking the water and how we can get in on the action. Maybe we were more like 007 and Q - doing some serious espionage. Actually, it felt more like we were Laurel and Hardy or Lucy and Ricky.
Here's what happened...
About a week ago a neighbor, let's just call him Pier Paolo, accused us of disconnecting his tubes and taking his water. Water, which Pier Paolo also claims we don't have the right to. (Do you sometimes, while reading my blog, experience a certain "Groundhog's Day" effect?) Let's not dwell on the lies of disillusional neighbors. I'm sure he means well...um, well probably not but anyway...
One thing led to another and my husband was shouting vaffanculo at Pier Paolo.
For those of you whose italian isn't so good, vaffanculo literally means go make yourself a butt...or something really intelligent like that. It's obviously an expression that is reserved for those rare (or not so rare) times when, by pure reflex, your left arm whacks your right arm right at the inside elbow causing the right forearm and hand to gesticulate aggression to another person or party. If you are having a tough time imagining it, go here.
Now THAT'S integrating yourself in the local culture! Well done, Honey.
So when the situation calmed down, and Pier Paolo stopped shouting "David, you can't send me in the butt!", we all apologize to each other and decide to play nice. Pier Paolo left the mountain with his tube reconnected.
A few days later we notice that there is only a trickle of water entering our vasca and that my bath water has a greenish-yellow tinge and smelled of sulfur. Lovely. Now, I'm not accusing Pier Paolo here, but we think Pier Paolo did it.
Actually, we don't think he did it on purpose but rather he was trying to clean the tube of built-up crud that was causing none of us to have water, which promptly sent said crud into our vasca. So this morning we emptied the vasca.
And David washed it with some bleach. (I suppose my next load of laundry should be whites)
Then we decided it was a good idea to find more than a trickle to fill it back up. We tried to go at the usual spring only to find, that, alas, that font is dry (or should I say, nothing more than a trickle).
This is where the espionage comes in, or the guerrilla tactics, I should say...
I won't go into all the ugly and wet details of how and where we found water (because you just don't know who is reading this and then I'd have to kill you all) but we did. We also connected Pier Paolo...you know, just to be neighborly.
Wet gold. We got it. Do you?
What? Water from the city, you ask?
Oh no no no, don't be silly. Just because we have some tubes and a water meter doesn't mean we have the city water. No. Let's remember that it took 3 years to get those installed, so actually getting the city water to run through them and into the house...well, who can say how long that will take.
No no, David and I spent the morning in active guerrilla style combat finding who's taking the water and how we can get in on the action. Maybe we were more like 007 and Q - doing some serious espionage. Actually, it felt more like we were Laurel and Hardy or Lucy and Ricky.
Here's what happened...
About a week ago a neighbor, let's just call him Pier Paolo, accused us of disconnecting his tubes and taking his water. Water, which Pier Paolo also claims we don't have the right to. (Do you sometimes, while reading my blog, experience a certain "Groundhog's Day" effect?) Let's not dwell on the lies of disillusional neighbors. I'm sure he means well...um, well probably not but anyway...
One thing led to another and my husband was shouting vaffanculo at Pier Paolo.
For those of you whose italian isn't so good, vaffanculo literally means go make yourself a butt...or something really intelligent like that. It's obviously an expression that is reserved for those rare (or not so rare) times when, by pure reflex, your left arm whacks your right arm right at the inside elbow causing the right forearm and hand to gesticulate aggression to another person or party. If you are having a tough time imagining it, go here.
Now THAT'S integrating yourself in the local culture! Well done, Honey.
So when the situation calmed down, and Pier Paolo stopped shouting "David, you can't send me in the butt!", we all apologize to each other and decide to play nice. Pier Paolo left the mountain with his tube reconnected.
A few days later we notice that there is only a trickle of water entering our vasca and that my bath water has a greenish-yellow tinge and smelled of sulfur. Lovely. Now, I'm not accusing Pier Paolo here, but we think Pier Paolo did it.
Actually, we don't think he did it on purpose but rather he was trying to clean the tube of built-up crud that was causing none of us to have water, which promptly sent said crud into our vasca. So this morning we emptied the vasca.
And David washed it with some bleach. (I suppose my next load of laundry should be whites)
Then we decided it was a good idea to find more than a trickle to fill it back up. We tried to go at the usual spring only to find, that, alas, that font is dry (or should I say, nothing more than a trickle).
This is where the espionage comes in, or the guerrilla tactics, I should say...
I won't go into all the ugly and wet details of how and where we found water (because you just don't know who is reading this and then I'd have to kill you all) but we did. We also connected Pier Paolo...you know, just to be neighborly.
Wet gold. We got it. Do you?
Friday, July 30, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The proctology of knitting
So here's the thing, when a person can knit or crochet people who can not knit or crochet ask the knitter/crocheter to make them stuff.
I'm not really sure why this is.
Maybe it's the equivalent of doctors at dinner parties who hear "so you're a doctor? Do you mind me asking, I've been having this pain..."
And it doesn't matter what sort of stuff you knit, they will invariably ask for something you hate knitting. It doesn't really matter that everything you create is extra bulky knit on turkey basters needles, they'll ask you knit a lace shawl with silk.
"So, you're a proctologist. Interesting. I've been having these headaches lately, could it be a brain tumor?"
Mette has recently been hit. To protect the guilty party, let's just call this person, um, Helga. So Helga asked Mette to make her this
Wow.
"Yeah. It's probably a brain tumor."
Just in case any of you are considering asking Mette to make you something in the future...here's what she does like to knit.
Ain't that a beauty?
I'm not really sure why this is.
Maybe it's the equivalent of doctors at dinner parties who hear "so you're a doctor? Do you mind me asking, I've been having this pain..."
And it doesn't matter what sort of stuff you knit, they will invariably ask for something you hate knitting. It doesn't really matter that everything you create is extra bulky knit on turkey basters needles, they'll ask you knit a lace shawl with silk.
"So, you're a proctologist. Interesting. I've been having these headaches lately, could it be a brain tumor?"
Mette has recently been hit. To protect the guilty party, let's just call this person, um, Helga. So Helga asked Mette to make her this
Wow.
"Yeah. It's probably a brain tumor."
Just in case any of you are considering asking Mette to make you something in the future...here's what she does like to knit.
Ain't that a beauty?
Monday, July 19, 2010
The News from Mount Webeengonealongtime
Lots going on here on the Mountain.
1. You know that not so fresh feeling? Well, let me tell you that I have the OPPOSITE of that. I have the OH SO FRESH feeling. How is that possible in 100 degree heat with 95% humidity, you'd like to know? Well, let me tell you. I've scrubbed and bleached and painted all my hidden parts. Week 10 of project 20/20 (I hate that name...it's just this constant reminder that I have so far to go, anyway...) is done. No one knows but me (and now all of you guys) that the floors and walls behind my fridge, my oven, every shelf, couch and table are now snow white and mold and dog hair free.
It's enough that I know. It really can give a girl that oh so fresh feeling.
Before.
After.
2. The orto ripened it's first tomato. I couldn't be prouder. Well, yeah, actually I could be prouder. It's a roma tomato and it's the size of my thumb...the size of my thumb minus that big meaty part that attaches the thumb to the rest of the hand, that is. You know, the part of the thumb that is really thin, with the nail and the knuckle. Yeah, that's the size of my first tomato. Here, I'll show you...
Should I be feeding them something besides water, you know, to fatten 'em up a little? I'm not really going to get a nice caprese salad out of that sucker.
3. Friends, we are so close now.
That's our water meter. A water meter - as in, there will be so much water coming that someone some where wants to keep track of it. As in, even if it doesn't rain we get water. As in, WATER ON DEMAND! As in, a shower with pressure that isn't determined by how high this
is in relation to the house (I do very much appreciate gravity as a basic principle, I just don't like relying on it for my water pressure).
So, like, in theory, we should have city water some time soon. After that meter and the main line are attached to the house, of course. Yeah, who am I kidding. Anyone want to place bets as to whether this city water is flowing into Casa Cornwell by Christmas? Yeah, probably not, but we are one step closer.
4. A package has arrived in Maberga. This is surely news because they don't always.
Check it out. It came all the way from Boulder, Colorado from Mike. Thanks, Mike!
Perhaps some of you are confused about why I get a package every year from Mike with a poster of a sexy woman sitting with some cars. Let me explain. You see, Mike and I had a common love. Here she is (looking a hell of a lot better being in Mike's hands than she ever did in mine)...
She was mine for a brief period, then Mike bought her from me when I moved to Italy. She's a high maintenance lover, let me tell you. I couldn't afford to take her with me to italy and, in the end, Mike couldn't afford to keep her running. (In case some of you don't recognize this famous car - it's a 1960 Fiat 600 - that makes her 50 this year, mechanic bills for a 50 year old car are significant, even if it's a FIAT...or should I say, especially when it's a FIAT). So each year, Mike and I share in a little nostalgia when he participates in the Denver Italian car show called the Automezzi. Thanks again, Mike. And here's to Little Blue...may she be getting all her needs met with her new owner.
5. The African Flower patch continue to grow...
Check out that flower tower! It's way bigger than my thumb, even with the meaty part that attaches to the hand. What's the lesson here?
Well, that's all the news from here where the tomatoes are small, the walls are clean, and the hope for running water is way above average (and probably reality).
1. You know that not so fresh feeling? Well, let me tell you that I have the OPPOSITE of that. I have the OH SO FRESH feeling. How is that possible in 100 degree heat with 95% humidity, you'd like to know? Well, let me tell you. I've scrubbed and bleached and painted all my hidden parts. Week 10 of project 20/20 (I hate that name...it's just this constant reminder that I have so far to go, anyway...) is done. No one knows but me (and now all of you guys) that the floors and walls behind my fridge, my oven, every shelf, couch and table are now snow white and mold and dog hair free.
It's enough that I know. It really can give a girl that oh so fresh feeling.
Before.
After.
2. The orto ripened it's first tomato. I couldn't be prouder. Well, yeah, actually I could be prouder. It's a roma tomato and it's the size of my thumb...the size of my thumb minus that big meaty part that attaches the thumb to the rest of the hand, that is. You know, the part of the thumb that is really thin, with the nail and the knuckle. Yeah, that's the size of my first tomato. Here, I'll show you...
Should I be feeding them something besides water, you know, to fatten 'em up a little? I'm not really going to get a nice caprese salad out of that sucker.
3. Friends, we are so close now.
That's our water meter. A water meter - as in, there will be so much water coming that someone some where wants to keep track of it. As in, even if it doesn't rain we get water. As in, WATER ON DEMAND! As in, a shower with pressure that isn't determined by how high this
is in relation to the house (I do very much appreciate gravity as a basic principle, I just don't like relying on it for my water pressure).
So, like, in theory, we should have city water some time soon. After that meter and the main line are attached to the house, of course. Yeah, who am I kidding. Anyone want to place bets as to whether this city water is flowing into Casa Cornwell by Christmas? Yeah, probably not, but we are one step closer.
4. A package has arrived in Maberga. This is surely news because they don't always.
Check it out. It came all the way from Boulder, Colorado from Mike. Thanks, Mike!
Perhaps some of you are confused about why I get a package every year from Mike with a poster of a sexy woman sitting with some cars. Let me explain. You see, Mike and I had a common love. Here she is (looking a hell of a lot better being in Mike's hands than she ever did in mine)...
She was mine for a brief period, then Mike bought her from me when I moved to Italy. She's a high maintenance lover, let me tell you. I couldn't afford to take her with me to italy and, in the end, Mike couldn't afford to keep her running. (In case some of you don't recognize this famous car - it's a 1960 Fiat 600 - that makes her 50 this year, mechanic bills for a 50 year old car are significant, even if it's a FIAT...or should I say, especially when it's a FIAT). So each year, Mike and I share in a little nostalgia when he participates in the Denver Italian car show called the Automezzi. Thanks again, Mike. And here's to Little Blue...may she be getting all her needs met with her new owner.
5. The African Flower patch continue to grow...
Check out that flower tower! It's way bigger than my thumb, even with the meaty part that attaches to the hand. What's the lesson here?
Well, that's all the news from here where the tomatoes are small, the walls are clean, and the hope for running water is way above average (and probably reality).
Monday, July 12, 2010
integration
So, he stops in front of the house and beeps.
"LINA!!!!"
It's Still-in-PJs o'clock when he hollers. He's already done a couple of hours of work on his land and is heading down the hill to go home and rest. He's not been well in the past year, so I know he doesn't sleep much.
"LINA!!!!" he calls again as I rush to put on something over my pjs so it doesn't look like I'm still in my pjs.
"Ciao ciao, marco!" His name isn't really Marco.
Marco has the window rolled down and is shoving a plastic bag out at me. "To. Tieni." Here, take this, he says to me.
I take the bag and tell him thank you very much, it's too nice. "troppo gentile, grazie".
It's all just a dance.
Then he says to me, keep the dogs inside tonight. And he winks.
"Si, certo". Yes, of course.
The dude is hunting off season. He comes up after dark each night hoping to catch himself some easy dinner. My dogs' barking chases the targets away. So he asks me to keep them in the house when he's here.
He used to just ask. Now we have a little dance. He gives me a bag of fruit and veg and I shut up my dogs.
I really think I'm becoming integrated in the culture.
In case anyone was wondering...wall one of the kitchen is (currently) without mold and freshly painted. Wall two is this week's project (is that week 10? am I only half way through these damn house projects?). I'm too daunted by the prospects to make a photo of it for you now, but I promise I will.
My african flower blanket is growing like a weed.
In case anyone else was wondering...the puzzle still is not done.
"LINA!!!!"
It's Still-in-PJs o'clock when he hollers. He's already done a couple of hours of work on his land and is heading down the hill to go home and rest. He's not been well in the past year, so I know he doesn't sleep much.
"LINA!!!!" he calls again as I rush to put on something over my pjs so it doesn't look like I'm still in my pjs.
"Ciao ciao, marco!" His name isn't really Marco.
Marco has the window rolled down and is shoving a plastic bag out at me. "To. Tieni." Here, take this, he says to me.
I take the bag and tell him thank you very much, it's too nice. "troppo gentile, grazie".
It's all just a dance.
Then he says to me, keep the dogs inside tonight. And he winks.
"Si, certo". Yes, of course.
The dude is hunting off season. He comes up after dark each night hoping to catch himself some easy dinner. My dogs' barking chases the targets away. So he asks me to keep them in the house when he's here.
He used to just ask. Now we have a little dance. He gives me a bag of fruit and veg and I shut up my dogs.
I really think I'm becoming integrated in the culture.
In case anyone was wondering...wall one of the kitchen is (currently) without mold and freshly painted. Wall two is this week's project (is that week 10? am I only half way through these damn house projects?). I'm too daunted by the prospects to make a photo of it for you now, but I promise I will.
My african flower blanket is growing like a weed.
In case anyone else was wondering...the puzzle still is not done.
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