I begin my day like the rest of the world, I open my eyes. I wake up, stretch my arms to my pillow, point my toes toward the bay sliding glass doors, out past the mountain tops, and I plunge my feet into the ocean. All this and I’m still in my bed. A warm body beside me and a smile on my face, I turn and give a buongiorno and a bacio and I can feel the ocean kiss me awake. I rise from the mattress on the teak floor to the bathroom on the left. I close the sliding wood door and perch myself on the throne for what will be the first of many pee’s for the day. I wash my face and check for spots, all is clear, for today. I follow the teak into the open concept kitchen and living-room and turn on the espresso machine. My round Tetley tea bag (which I had shipped from Canada) fits perfectly in the cup of the espresso maker, the tea is slightly tainted with espresso, there is no other choice, there is no oven, yet. I drink my tea on our new used divano and gaze out the windows. Il mare is clam today, maybe we will go to the beach for the fourth day in a row, maybe we will take an hour drive to Sassari to pick up a new English novel and maybe just maybe I’ll sit on my yellow divano and stare dreamily into the valley and the mountains that surround us.
The muscles in my calves are aching as I make my way up the mountain, bags in hand. At home I unpack the groceries to our six-foot two fridge. In an hour M. will be home, sweaty from seven hours of pane and he’ll be hungry. He likes and wants me to prepare the meals, its part of his culture; that’s just what the women do. I’ve seen it at many dinner parties thrown by his friends. And this woman doesn’t mind. He’s home and greets me with a bacio and we eat. I wash the dishes in the bathroom sink; our cucina finished within the next few days, Sardinian time. In my reality of time our cucina will be finished in two to three more weeks. I’m ok with the fact that things here happen slowly, I can’t change the hand of time nor can I move a culture to rapido. After all, I am in their country trying to speak their language be it dialect or Italian; and I find myself becoming the traditional Italian housewife with the exception that I AM CANADIAN, eh!
Here’s a little peek into my piece of heaven. And all from the front row seat of my living room. Bliss. Happy Sunday.
The smiles are wide here. They are full of hope and filled with laughter. This I learned at a family gathering last night. There were twenty-one Sards, one Italian and one Canadian at this festival which was held a few mountains over from ours. From the moment we entered the door with our ‘permesso,’ the radiant smiles never stopped.
After making the round of the usual kiss on both cheeks to everyone in attendance we set upon duties for the nightly meal. Mine consisted of grating five pounds of Continue reading
So instead of my usual or not so usual ramblings here on WordPress, I’ve decided to show you around my town. The name is not important but it’s in Sardegna. The most beautiful place on the planet. Enjoy the following pics. Continue reading
Living on an island in Italy has its up and downs. I’ve lived here for almost three years and every day the ‘system‘ changes, a new law passed, the Prime Minster can buy votes, and maybe the post will arrive domani. It’s no wonder most of the habitants here are ‘fuori di testa.’ How can anyone possibly trust/rely on a system that is corrupt and changes only for the good will of the already made billionaires. Continue reading
The towns municipal police officer is playing street cop and directing two-way traffic on a street built for one. He wears the aviator shades that Tom Cruise sported in his film Top Gun, which two decades later are still all the rage. Continue reading