If not now, when?

One American woman. Twenty acres and a 1650 farmhouse in Tuscany. Random introspection and hilarity, depending on the day.

25 November 2005

Typing with gloves on

It’s the day after Thanksgiving (more on that later). But at the moment, I am most thankful for Big REd. He gave me the gloves and fur hat that I am wearing for Christmas last year, and they are the only thing keeping me warm in my oh-so-frigid house right now. The thermometer *in* my living room says FOUR (39.2 Farenheit, but who's counting?)

Let me back up.

After 24 days on the road (DC, Sonoma, Sacramento, Seattle, DC again, Ireland and Northern Ireland), I flew back into Pisa last night. I had initially planned to stay the night in Pisa then train in this morning to meet il Cavaliere (Simon was staying with him while I was gone). When traveling, flexibility is key – when I arrived near midnight, I realized there was a train strike scheduled for Friday. So I jumped on the bus with all the other low-fare passengers and schlepped into downtown Florence very early this morning, where my friends at the Hotel Astoria found a room and a glass of wine for me.

Today, considerably refreshed, I met up with Il Cavaliere, was reunited with Simon and we drove the hour south back home. Weather here is coooooooooooooooooooold and rainy; not the ‘Bella Toscana’ that I left. Somewhere on that one hour journey, I discovered that Simon’s only problem seems to be that he doesn’t have heat. Hmmmmm. That’s a problem we’ll work to remedy on Monday. For now, I’m just happy to be home.

After 3+ weeks being gone, I knew the house would need a little love. I walked in immediately and noticed that – although I had left the thermostat set on a reasonable 15 degrees (59F) - I could see my breath.

And my olive oil is congealed.

Houston, we have a problem.

I play with the Caldaia for a bit, but to no avail. (and I did have it serviced 5 weeks ago). It may be the pilot light. Then again, today may just not be my day for heaters.

I laid a fire. Put the teakettle, a coat, fur hat, wool socks, and my winter boots on. I remind myself that this house was built in 1650 and that people lived here for HUNDREDS of years with only a fireplace to keep them warm in nights like this. (Which makes me feel spoiled and petulant and modernly bitchy for wishing everything was toasty warm). As I type this, I am waiting for the Renaissance Artist to swing by and take a look.

Heavy sigh. Which reminds me that I can still see my breath. I amuse myself first by unpacking, then by moving the computer in next to the fireplace.

It’s good to be home, but it would be better to be home AND warm. Yeah, yeah – beggers and choosers and all that.


Anonymous Laurie said...

Welcome home, Viaggiatore! Hope it's warming up!

8:13 AM  
Anonymous UBlend said...

OMG...the drama never does end! Any all this drama and not a man involved in the least. Only YOU. And Simon...damn him too!

Glad you are home! At least you know the Vodka was chilled for you!

2:02 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home