Italy is Calling

I've been visiting the US Department of State's website Travel.State.Gov for years. The site monitors the current safety of each country and assigns a level from one to four. Level 1: Exercise Normal Precautions. Level 2: Exercise Increased Caution. Level 3: Avoid Nonessential Travel.  Level 4: Do Not Travel.  Before checking available flights, I check available countries and then head out for a dictionary and a guidebook.

I didn't know about this site when I went to Egypt.  After recent terrorist attacks in Cairo (the late nineties), things seemed to have settled down. Those were the days some of us thought recent attacks meant tightened security and safer trips. Instead of a travel advisory from the State Department, I took my father-in-law's advice and grabbed my backpack.

I wouldn't take the same risk now. And I definitely wouldn't scrouch, climb and crawl through the tunnel to get to the innards of The Great Pyramid of Giza, one of the Seven Great Wonders of the World. But I'm sure glad I did it then. (Thanks, Bob.)

When Bolivia struck my fancy it was Level Two (Exercise Increased Caution).  But I was drawn to the country's long braids, colorful clothes and little black hats so I kept checking. When it jumped to Level One on the charts, I bought my tickets.

On a recent road trip to France (unimpressed by the same landscape I'm used to in Italy), I checked the travel advisory for Uzbekistan and learned that it was travelable. I googled some photos and maps before returning to the off-season fields of lavendar.

When I got home, I let the France trip sink in for a month before I started talking about Uzbekistan again.  Most people responded with alarm and advised me that it was unsafe, so I checked my favorite site and confirmed that it was still Level One (Exercise Normal Precautions). Just for fun, I checked Italy.  Due to recent acts of terrorism in Europe, Italy was Level Two (just like Bolivia had been). In October 2019 I was living in a country that in the past I would have  put on hold as a travel destination.

While writing this piece, I've been checking the site on my phone to verify minor details. Although the screen is small, I still squint my eyes and read between my fingertips to avoid unnecessary coronavirus news. It doesn't take much to see all red.  And I don't have to read anything to know that we are all in this Level Four (Do Not Travel) together.

I have a feeling Italy will be on that list longer than the rest of the world.  And even as the Level goes from Four to One, I think visitors will keep more than just a social distance from us.  It looks like Uzbekistan will have to wait. Italy is calling. Seeing the innards of Venice without climbing and crawling through tourists might just be the next Great Wonder of the World.

A Trailblazer Searching for Happy Trails

These are the trails I like to blaze.

Cambridge Dictionary defines a trailblazer as "the first person to do something or go somewhere who shows that it is also possible for other people."  I'm not the first person to experience life in a country devastated by the coronavirus. The people in Wuhan hold that unenviable title.  But as an expat in Italy, I have found myself in an unusual trailblazing situation.

When I started sending updates to American onlookers, I considered them anecdotes on La Nuova Bella Vita in Italia. Friends answered with disbelief, compassion and encouragement. Unfortunately,  the coronavirus has made its way to the States, and those anecdotes have become instructions. Now when American friends write to me I can't answer with disbelief, but only with empathy and encouragement.     

Living with the coronavirus for nearly a month most Italians (and this American) have locked down and calmed down. We're learning  to digest the truth, live with the reality and cope (or hope). The only thing to do is wear gloves and masks, send funny videos and wait.

The difference in an expat's life, is that we live in two worlds.  In the beginning I only worried about my elderly neighbors on the island, people that still have to go to work and European friends following in Italy's footsteps. But when the virus hit the US, my emotions started working overtime.

My morning messages remind me that I still live in Italy. I get important updates on new lockdown rules, check in on friends and plan the day's activities (just for laughs). Then there's a little downtime.  Around 1pm my phone starts buzzing with activity from America. Early-rising friends, late-rising friends, and friends in 4 time zones (fortunately I don't know anyone in Hawaii or Alaska) keep me busy for the next several hours.

My American friends are much more informed on Italy's situation than I am. One attached an article and knew enough to write "A heartwarming story" in the subject line or his efforts would have gone unread. When I told my neighbors about the 101-year old man that survived the coronavirus and was released from the hospital it was news to them.  Knowing that I avoid all media they asked how I'd heard the story and I proudly answered, "It came from America."

The unnamed man lives Rimini, Italy. He was born during the Spanish Flu pandemic in 1919. That's what I call a real trailblazer. He's the first person to do something who shows that it is also possible for other people. Thanks for giving us hope, Signor Unnamed Man. Happy trails to you.



    

Seize the Day Before the Coronavirus Goes Away

I live in a little borgo (borghetto) in the Italian countryside. It's a clump of houses set in the middle of cornfields, olive groves, vineyards and woods. Across the road from my tiny house there's what I jokingly call a housing complex. It's a big piece of land with a fence around it and inside are four single-family homes. The grandpa and grandma live alone in one and their three kids live with their families in the others.

My favorite neighbors are Emma (9) and Bianca (6). Yesterday they were running around the complex in their red rubber boots searching for tiny wildflowers to make a tiny bouquet for their mom. It would have been fun to help them pick, but it's off-limits due to the coronavirus lockdown. They know they have to keep their distance from other people, but wanted to talk anyway.  They stayed on their side of the fence and I, certain there'd be no traffic, sat down in the middle of the road on my side.

Emma and Bianca's only comments about the pandemic were that they couldn't wait for the coronavirus (pronounced corona vee-roose) to go away so they could pass that silly gate at the end of their driveway. That's all. There was no need to plug my ears or interrupt the gory details because the coronavirus conversation stopped there.

They told me they had homemade pizza the night before because their mom said that right now they couldn't get carry out.  I had frozen pizza (I have no yeast) for the same reason.  They said they couldn't get to sleep because they had watched a scary cartoon (not the scary news) but in the morning their fear had passed (instead of grown). I watched an old DVD of Dead Poet's Society (L'attimo Fuggente, which is the Italian translation of the Latin term Carpe Diem, which in English means Seize the Day).

Emma told me about last night's cartoon and Bianca included the important details like when the giraffe farts (my mom wouldn't let me say that word). When the story was over, I asked Bianca about the hole in her pants.  She said it happened climbing a tree, but Emma insisted it was when she fell off her bike trying to ride no-handed. They asked me how to say bici (bike), mazzolino (bouquet) and albero (tree) in English and just to confuse them I asked how to say pizza (pizza) and spaghetti (spaghetti) in Italian.

Important conversations like these have been lacking in Italy for more than a month. Everyone wants to keep themselves free from the coronavirus, but I'm one of the few trying to keep myself free from the coronavirus news.  Friends update me on the important stuff, but if there is news I can live without, I prefer to live without it. It's the only way to keep living.

When the girls were called in for lunch I sat in the road for a few more minutes thinking that we are the only three kids in the borghetto doing our best to live without the virus.  Just like Emma and Bianca, I'm waiting for the day that they can pass that silly gate. I'm waiting for the the day it will be unsafe to sit in the middle of the road and the day we can all get back to dangerous stuff like riding no-handed and climbing trees. But until the coronavirus goes away, our only option is to seize the day. And hopefully we've all learned that's what we should have been doing all along. 

A Smiling Rainbow in Italy

Italians and rainbows are doing what they can to boost morale during the Coronavirus pandemic. And there's an americana trying to do her part, too. (see http://10leaves.blogspot.com/2020/03/somewhere-over-rainbowtheres-italy.html). I wasn't confident about my construction skills on an oversized project, but nine days later the 15-foot rainbow that spans my driveway is still blowing in the wind. Had I thought on installation day that there would also be a dismantling day, production may have never begun.

Last week's rainbow from a new perspective.

I know I had this thought after 9/11 when I bought my tiny flag pin from a box of fifty cent items at an antique store.  People had their flags out and anchormen had their flags on and I wanted to join them.  But at that time I also remember wondering how and when someone would decide to stop displaying it. Do you just wake up one day and think, "Ok, it's been long enough"?  I can't remember if the fear of deciding when enough was enough actually kept me from wearing the pin.

Fortunately, I've never known anyone who's died in a fatal traffic accident, but I have the same thought every time I pass a roadside memorial.  Some day someone just stops bringing flowers.

I'm glad I didn't let these thoughts get in my way on rainbow-making day.  I'm happy to see it from my window as I write and to pass under it when I get home from a walk. It's not the same every day.  Different hours and different weather have an effect on my rainbow, just like they have an effect on you and me. 

The first week I sent photos of my installation to friends even though I never liked them (the photos, not the friends). My objective was to show its size and placement, but the photos had too much background noise. Nine days later I found a new perspective and saw that its colors were brighter, its details were clearer and it was smiling.

The coronavirus has forced all of us to look at life from a different perspective.  Hopefully in time yours will be brighter, clearer and filled with smiles.
    

Making Friends During the Coronavirus Pandemic

Walking in Italy during the Coronavirus is a solo sport.  That part doesn't bother me because I've never needed company to "keep me going".  A little company to "get me going" is always helpful.  Heading out on a winter morning with my flashlight is a lot easier if I know someone is expecting me.

In Chicago one of my favorite parts of running was meeting new people. I haven't had the same luck in Italy because  Chicago's busy lakefront path has become a two-rut lane in a field.  And when the Corona Running Rules arrived, my two-rut lane became a strip of grass along a canal between cornfields 200 meters from home. My new track and field is just a hop, skip and jump over my neighbor's fence. The Proprieta' Privata signs were just what I needed to feel safe from close (corona) encounters.

There's an uninhabited house on the property, but the garage is still used to store machines and equipment for the family business. Though I thought the grounds were all mine, I still left home with my red bandana round my neck ready to cover my mouth in case of contact. Until yesterday my only friends were a duck and a crane, so I was startled to come upon human life.
 
Having climbed the fence, photographed the Private Property signs and made friends with the duck and crane, I thought the least I could do was introduce myself to the intruder. I approached and he approached.  I stopped and he didn't. I took a few steps back and said that Mauro had given me permission to be there.  He responded and I understood nothing, which isn't unusual for me.

For example, last year after having passed the same couple on the two-rut lane for more than a month they finally smiled and said, "Vai a cagare." (vah-ee ah cah-GAH-ray) It's an Italian phrase I'd rather not translate which is never said with a smile. Five miles later I figured out they'd asked, "Fai anche gare?" (fah-ee ahn-kay GAH-ray) which means, "Do you run races, too?"

So, the fact that I didn't understand what my new friend was saying was no surprise.  The puzzling thing was that he didn't understand me either.  There we stood, six times the necessary safety distance, unwilling to get close enough to clear things up. After a few shoulder shrugs and smiles we waved goodbye.

I decided to call my neighbor in case my new friend had decided to report me. That's when I found out he was deaf. And the reason we couldn't communicate is because he reads lips and we couldn't get close enough to understand each other. Imagine what it would be like to be deaf during this pandemic. You can't heed a danger warning because you can't hear the warning.  If someone wants to get your attention, they can't get close enough to tap you on the shoulder. Lip reading, your method of communication, is suddenly hidden behind a mask.  Missing a phrase or two in the neighborhood dialect doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore.

Fortunately I saw my new friend again today.  We both showed up at the same time in the same place and the morning started with a long distance wave.  I thought about trying to reintroduce myself with the sign language alphabet I'd learned in fifth grade, but I realized he probably didn't have time for that, so I kept walking.  The twelfth time I passed the garage I had a good idea. I still had a few laps to learn a word or two from the internet, not with the alphabet, but with whole words. I decided on 'finish' and 'have a nice day'. They were both quite easy and over-sized, so I thought he could read them from the other side of the canal.  I vowed to keep passing until he looked up, with hopes that I wouldn't have to do 10 more miles. 

I kept practicing my moves. I felt nervous every time I neared the garage thinking I'd be on stage any minute and forget my signs. I took off my gloves and scarf so my words would be clear on my black jacket.  When he looked up I placed my open hands in front of my chest palm sides down and then turned my wrists to make my palms face him.  I don't know how to conjugate verbs in sign language, so I hoped he'd understood that I was trying to say that I had finished.  Then I moved on to 'have a nice day.' That one's a little more complicated, but I like the moves.  He smiled and waved and I proudly put my gloves on and headed home.

My neighbor called later to tell me that his brother doesn't speak sign language, so my performance was just that....a performance.  Maybe tomorrow I'll get close enough so he can read my lips. In Italy they say one meter is a safe distance to avoid spreading the Coronavirus, but I think that's pushing it. I'll knock off two from my six which leaves me a comfortable four (13 feet). The only problem is lipreading.org says that lip reading is a lot easier when it's done in the lip reader's first language. His first language is Italian dialect, so that's out.  I'm afraid tomorrow we'll have to go back to the friendly smile. Fortunately it's universal.  In the end, it's the kind gestures that count.       


         

Life Imitates Art at La Biennale di Venezia

I'm thinking of writing a letter to the organizers of La Biennale di Venezia to ask them to be a bit more careful when they select the title of the 2021 event. This international art exhibition is held in Venice every year and the shows alternate between Biennale Arte and Biennale Architettura.  Art and architecture lovers from around the world are usually invited to visit the exhibition from May to November, but due to the coronavirus, this year's kickoff will be three months later and the event three months shorter.

Window to the World. Step up to the window for a more intimate view of the beach forest.

 Unlike several friends, I actually enjoy the Biennale.  I don't understand much about modern art and I'm not sure anyone else does, but I'm not willing to give up. 

I'm sad to say that I don't remember the name or country of one of my favorite installations.  Come with me into this huge, empty warehouse. (Be patient, read slowly and follow along.) It's square with black walls and has high ceilings.  Concentrate. Three feet in from the four walls they've installed a chain link fence. And three feet from the ceiling they've topped that chain link fence with a chain link ceiling. Now we have a giant black room, with a giant chain link fence room inside it.  The chain link fence room has a small opening and you can enter.  Go in. You're still in the same big, black room where you can see its walls and ceiling, but being just one step inside the chain link fence room, you're suddenly in a different place. I kept going in and out and I kept feeling the difference.  

I didn't have to read an explanation of the chain link fence installation to feel it.  And maybe I didn't feel what I was supposed to feel, but I felt something.  And that's why I go back to the Biennale year after year.  I like to feel something.

Le Boe. (The Buoys) All materials donated by the Adriatic.

I've attached photos of a few of my own creations.  They may not be worthy of a place at the Biennale, but more than one person has felt something, and in the end isn't that what art is all about?

In 2019 Biennale Arte was titled May You Live In Interesting Times. At the end of 2019 the entire city of Venice and my nearby island flooded.  And two months later the coronavirus arrived.  Are those considered interesting times?

The title of Biennale Architettura 2020 is How Will We Live Together? These days in Italy we're doing everything we can to live apart. So if the coronavirus ever goes away, the question could very well be "how do we live together?" 

Look through the window from the forest and there's nothing  but sea.

In the Decay of Lying Oscar Wilde wrote, "Life imitates art."  If the curators of the Biennale support this thought, they should have been more careful naming their shows.  I'd like to submit an idea for the title of Biennale Arte 2021.  How 'bout It's a Wonderful Life?  What could go wrong with that?
  

Coronavirus Restrictions Lead to New Discoveries

Planning a trip used to mean finding cheap flights from Chicago. But now that I live in Italy I just get out google maps (I guess you can't really get those out) and type in the distance from Venice to wherever I want to go to see how long the road trip will take. 

Unfortunately, due to the coronavirus I'm not planning a trip, but I'm still checking google maps.  I need to learn my boundaries.  We're only allowed to leave our town for grocery shopping, medical appointments (non-essential are cancelled anyway) hopsital trips and work (in which case a large part of work in Italy has stopped).  And seeing that banks and post offices are still open (I've heard only the ones with big glass windows at the counter) I guess you must be able to go there, too.

Here's a quick review.  At first we were told to stay in Italy, but we could move about the country (at least I think that was a rule).  Then some provinces were closed (mine included) and we couldn't leave our province.  Next came the lockdown of all of the provinces, which is easier to visualize when you say the whole country couldn't move from one province to another.  That later became the law for towns. A resident of one Italian town with hills and vineyards and olive groves couldn't visit their family in the next town with cobblestone streets and medeival walls and castles. 
         
At first the idea of the town lockdown was hard to take.  On runs and walks I've always headed north and east of home, but I quickly learned those were the fastest ways out of town.  It was time to explore the south and west, where I could go a couple of kilometers without leaving my city limits.

On the first day I saw my horizons stretching. I found spectacular new views of the same mountains. I discovered an abandoned villa in the woods where the surrounding stone wall is being rebuilt.  I said hello to a lady picking weeds for her salad and waved at unknown farmers plowing and sowing (my students would ask why those words aren't pronounced the same) a huge field with no tractors. I felt anything but restricted.

This is what Italian farmers do on lockdown.

Then, just as I was getting used to my new home away from home, my boundaries were once again reduced.  The new law requires that I stay within 200 meters of my house. It was time for more google maps.  I prefer my shiny silver compass for drawing perfect circles, but that doesn't work on a touchscreen. So I put the dot on my little blue house, set the distance at 200 meters and drew my new boundaries.

This morning I successfully completed 11 kilometers in my lockdown zone.  Unfortunately, my idea of laps in the vineyard is no longer possible.  The closest one is 50 meters outside my circle.  Luckily, olive groves are still available.  And there's nothing like a few laps between rows of dried up cornstalks to cheer you up.

I asked my neighbor if I could climb his fence and I discovered this. If only my 200 meters didn't stop at the bottom of the hill.

     

In Times of the Coronavirus, Think Before You.......Do Anything.

Which do you want first...the good news or the bad news?  Unfortunately, that question hasn't been asked much in Italy during our first month of life with the coronavirus.  There's nothing but bad news here.  The new question for me is whether I want the bad news before going to bed or the bad news when I wake up. And I'm still undecided.

But there is one thing I'm sure of. Some things aren't so nice to wake up to.  I know these people meant no harm, but before these acts of kindness are repeated, I thought I'd spread the word that it's not the best way to start what is definitley already going to be a very difficult day.   

1.  Don't leave a photocopy on the breakfast table of the instructions on what to do if you have a cough and fever and have to self-isolate.  The cereal box is more entertaining.

2.  Don't send someone in the hotbed of the virus a good morning message like this:  "Hey!  Things are really bad over there....stay safe - good luck!"  I'm not kidding.  It actually said good luck.  Good luck in what sense?  Good luck that you don't die?

3.  Don't tell someone that the liter of milk they've been saving to make fake Starbucks hot chocolate had expired so you poured it down the drain.

4.  Don't leave a note that you were craving pizza at 3am and since Domino's was closed (don't worry, it doesn't exist in Italy) you ate the last frozen pizza (which is actually much better than Domino's).

Let's break that down.  Numbers 3 and 4 didn't really happen.  And if I compare them to numbers 1 and 2 (which are true), they wouldn't have been all that bad.  Number 1 wasn't so nice to wake up to, but better safe than sorry.  That leaves us with number 2. I'd like to say the message was from one of my students that still doesn't have a real grasp of the English language, but it wasn't. It came from a Venezuelen guy that lives in Australia that I met in Toyko.  Take out Venezuela and Tokyo and he lives in Australia where they speak English, albeit funny.

Maybe the fact that he's in a different time zone means he was drunk. Maybe it was a typo and he meant to write, "Are things really bad over there?" instead of "Things are really bad over there." Or maybe he's just a nice guy that was thinking about me so much he couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. I think that's it.  

As much as I try to avoid what's happening in my tiny country it's impossible when you've got friends all over the world.  And in the end that's what I'm thankful for and I just have to stay safe and hope for a little luck.


P.S.  I hope I haven't frightened you out of sending messages.  The comments on Blogger are a bit hit or miss, so feel free to write to tenleyves@yahoo.com.  

Save Your Sleeves, Buy Corona Cuffs

The only thing I don't miss about bagels is cutting them.  For me, the neighborhood hospital in Chicago had only been my polling place until the day I needed stitches.  The nurse did the prep and the doctor yelled from the other room, "It's Sunday morning. Is it another bagel injury?"

I had the stitches and the bandage long enough to pick up some strange new habits. I wasn't required to keep my finger straight with my hand in pistol position, but for some reason that's how I felt most comfortable.  Several weeks later when I lost the bandage, I didn't lose the pistol.

My fear of the Coronavirus in Italy has brought on a handful of new habits.  In fact, tomorrow I'm going to make some Corona Cuffs.  They'll be much more practical than gloves and I'll save money on replacing my t-shirts that now have extra long sleeves (from being stretched over my fingers to touch all that needs touching). 

Opening doors, turning on faucets, checking the fridge, turning on lights, pulling out chairs, opening the fireplace, sweeping, opening the door, turning on the shower (well, I guess I'm sleeveless at that point, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't stand there perplexed for a second) are all done with my sleeves.  The undoing of these tasks is done with my sleeves, too. And when my sleeved-hands are carrying the Nutella jar and crackers, some say I could still eat pasta with my elbows.

I'm quite sure this is unnecessary and to most, quite ridiculous. After all, I'm doing this in my own house after a daily dose of alcohol for every knob and handle. The last time I read about the length of time the virus lives on surfaces was when they were testing it in China and no one seemed certain....two hours here and 7 days there.  At this point, my sleeves may well test positive, but at least I don't accidently put them in my mouth or nose (I mean eyes).

In general I'm far from phobic when it comes to dirt and germs. I agreed with my father-in-law when he told new moms on the beach that their kids would be stronger with a few mouthfuls of sand. The story shocked my Italian friends who don't leave home without baby wipes even though their kids are in college. I don't carry hand sanitizer and the idea of using the restroom at a pizzeria seems grosser than eating pizza with my germ-infested hands, but I suppose those days are gone.

The only time I used to worry about germs was traveling.  On a six-hour slow train in India my seatmate and I were silent until the last 30 minutes of the trip when he thanked me for the hygiene lesson.  He'd spent two years living in New York City and this train was bringing him home. On the trip he copied everything I did. He had to learn how to approach his country as a tourist (a smart one). His body could no longer handle the habits he'd had before leaving.

There was a meal provided on the trip and he only ate what I ate.  I refused the bread because it may have been touched by dirty hands.  I certainly didn't eat the lettuce that might have been rinsed with dirty water. I accepted the juice box with it's clean plastic-sealed straw glued to the side and I refused the coffee.  And unbeknownst to me, my new friend did the same.

When we finally come out of lockdown in Italy I'm going to have some new habits to break.  Pulling down my sleeve to turn on a light has become natural even when I'm sleepwalking to the bathroom.  That's why Corona Cuffs will come in handy.  I'm making them out of scraps that were too cute to cut for my rainbow yesterday. They're just colorful long tubes that hide innocently in your sweater sleeves. In six months when I still have the urge to pull at my sleeve, the cute cuffs will be there as a handy accessory. You only pull them out when you really need them. I'm in Italy, the fashion capital of the world.  If I market them right, no one will leave home without them. 

It wasn't hard to explain my pistol in Chicago weeks after the unbandaging.  I can only hope the Italians will be as understanding if I'm still eating pasta with my elbows in August. 

Somewhere Over the Rainbow.....There's Italy.

Other than the sliding door of my Barbie camper, rainbows weren't a big part of my childhood.  When I watched The Wizard of Oz, I was more interested in Dorothy's shoes than what lay over the rainbow.  And although the rainbow flag has been used as a symbol of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer (LGBTQ) pride since the 70s, I was unaware until the late 80s, at which time to me it was simply the Gay Flag.

Traveling in Italy in 2003 the country was adorned with the rainbow flag.  The word pace was written in white in the center.  I checked my travel dictionary for the definition of pace (peace) but looked no further.  I thought the country's gay community was crying out for peace. Many years later, as a resident of Italy instead of a traveler, I learned that the 2003 rainbow flag was to show their opposition to the war in Iraq.

If only we could make a wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind us.

Once again, in 2020 rainbows adorn the streets of Italy, but this time they aren't flags.  They're usually children's drawings of a rainbow with two clouds and the message, Tutto andra' bene (everything will be ok).  I wouldn't say I'm the type that always looks on the bright side, but my idea of a rainbow had always been with a pot of gold at the end.  When I asked about the clouds they explained that the rainbow was coming out of the clouds.  That means I've been mistaken all these years and there's really a rainbow at the end of every pot of gold.

Parents started hanging the drawings on gates and windows to spread messages of hope and positivity.  And now, in addition to the Coronavirus spreading, the message of hope is also spreading. Yesterday I joined in to boost morale and share the slogan of reassurance.

Seeing that organizing overflowing closets is on my Lockdown List of Things To Do, it seemed like a good time to use up some tiny fabric scraps. And even though paper scraps in Chicago for a long chain for the Christmas tree was a bit more festive than fabric scraps in Italy for a rainbow of hope, I didn't give up. 

I hung my rainbow across the driveway yesterday with no clouds and no slogan (and no pot of gold). My 75-year old farming neighbor asked if there was going to be a party.  When I explained that it was a rainbow he told me that rainbows have 7 colors and mine only had six.  (My fabric scraps lacked indigo.) Then he asked about the missing clouds.



I sent a photo to a friend and she wrote, "Bello!! But it's missing the slogan!" and attached the little rainbow emoticon (with the clouds, of course).  I responded asking if she thought every gondilier (guy that drives a gondola) had to remind the tourists that he had a gondola.  I think the striped shirt and funny straw hat with the ribbon are enough to get the point across, but then I'm dumb enough to think a six-stripe rainbow with no clouds and no slogan could speak for itself.

Things in Italy change every day and so do I.  Between yesterday and today I've changed my mind about the slogan. It seems selfish.  It's not fair to say that everything will be okay when for so many everything isn't ok.  We can say there's hope and we are all in this together and we have to stay strong, but in my opinion, everything will be ok isn't suitable.  Therefore, my giant rainbow will remain silent and the few folks that pass my country road can think what they will.  And I'll just hope for peace.

Somewhere over the rainbow there's Italy, number one on the list for blue skies and dreams and number two on the list of worldwide Coronavirus cases. We're hopeful that soon our troubles will melt like lemon drops and Italy will once again be that pot of gold. (I  took the photo the day before the nationwide lockdown.) 

Do What You Can to Stop the Spread of the Coronavirus. Please.

The current rule in Italy during the Coronavirus lockdown is that only one person in the family is allowed to shop (which when the time comes, won't be me). And, that one person can only shop for articles of the utmost necessity.

That's why it's hard for me to understand why some of my friends feel the need to grocery shop again and again.  I went 22 days ago and I haven't been back.  I don't really like much of what I'm eating, but I eat.  Everything that I want to make is missing one ingredient, so I don't make it. But that's not enough to think that another trip to the market is important. 

These rulebreaking friends make me mad (both angry and crazy).  My initial frustration came out of concern for them.  They shouldn't be out so much, they shouldn't touch the dirty shopping cart and then accidently touch their mouth or eyes, they shouldn't be in a place where they might be sneezed on.  But this frustration has since turned to anger because I don't think they're doing their part. 

For the moment, I have enough food to avoid the grocery store.  But one of these days I'll have to go because I'll have run out of canned peas and pasta.    Finding a crowded store will make shopping more of a risk for me.  And if the reason the store is crowded is because it's full of people like my friends that go day after day for articles that aren't of the utmost necessity,  and one of those 'friends' sneezes on me in a crowded aisle, I'll have one more reason to hate grocery shopping.

The rapid spread of the Coronavirus is the dangerous part. The spread is why there aren't enough test kits or hospital beds. It's essential to learn from the first unfortunate countries that had no guidelines and stop the spread now.

Wangari Maathai won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2004. She uses the Hummingbird Fable to illustrate how the smallest of contributions is important.

Wangari Maathai's story

One day a terrible fire broke out in a forest, and a huge woodlands was suddenly engulfed by a raging wild fire. Frightened, all the animals fled their homes and ran out of the forest. As they came to the edge of a stream they stopped to watch the fire, feeling very discouraged and powerless, and grieving the destruction of their homes. Every one of them thought there was nothing they could do about the fire - except for one little hummingbird.
This particular hummingbird swooped into the stream and picked up a few drops of water, then flew into the forest and put them on the fire. Then it went back to the stream and did it again, and it kept going back, again and again and again. All the other animals watched in disbelief; some tried to discourage the hummingbird.
“Don’t bother.”
“It’s too much.”
“You’re too little.”
“Your wings will burn.”
“Your beak is too tiny.”
“It’s only a drop.”
“You can’t put out this fire.”
And as the animals stood around disparaging the little bird's efforts, the bird noticed how hopeless and forlorn they looked. Then one of the animals shouted out and challenged the hummingbird, asking in a mocking voice, “what do you think you are doing?” And the hummingbird, without wasting time or losing a beat, looked back and said, “I am doing what I can.”

If we all do our part, we could help stop the spread of the virus.  And if we stop the spread, we could save lives.  Living your life without fresh fruit and vegetables for a few weeks might be saving the life of someone else.   

The Hills are Alive with the Sound of the Coronavirus Lockdown

Taking a walk during the lockdown has taken some figuring out.  When I realized I was breaking the rules by leaving my town limits I got a little bit worried, so the next day I opted for laps in the vineyards.  When I got tired of one, I moved on to another, but everything looked the same. The vines are leafless so between the rows I never lost sight of the mountains. If I'm still counting laps in May, at least I'll have a change of scenery.

When I told friends about my new gym, some were convinced that I was still breaking rules. I decided to take a couple of days off to study the decree from Il Presidente del Consiglio dei Ministri.  Article 1, number 1, letter d could be interpreted in different ways and if Italians disagreed on the wording, I certainly couldn't figure it out. It was so confusing it was later modified to a different article and number and letter but I can't tell you what that is right now because it's folded neatly in the pocket of my running coat with all of the other documents necessary to take a walk in Italy during the Coronavirus Lockdown. (It's true that I don't really need a running coat if I'm only walking, but the rule mentions athletes, so I thought I'd better look the part.) 

I have a student that owns a house near mine but doesn't live there.  I called him yesterday and asked if I could climb over his fence and cross his property to get to the woods. In doing so, I only have 45 seconds on the street.  So if I'm breaking any rules they're going to have to come get me on an off road 4-Wheeler.  And in the 8 years I've been safely crossing the borders on my trail runs, I've never seen one.  In fact, I've seldom seen anyone at all.  I know the local shepherd and he makes the same comment every time I pass.  Just like me, he's always in a different place.  I wave at my favorite farmers in their combines and wish the men collecting mushrooms good luck.

Even the sheep are on lockdown.

But today was completely different. Apparently I'm not the only one afraid of breaking the walking rules because the hills and trails were alive.  Most of the walkers were alone.  But if you decide to walk with a friend, the one-meter-safety distance is required and enforced. Two friends that stopped by this afternoon for a long distance chat in the yard had been questioned by the civil protection service (old men that volunteer) and told to respect the distance.  They were luckier than the two 70-year-old ladies that hadn't realized they were out of their city limits and were fined.

Mountain bikers passed with their bandanas drawn high, but I held my breath anyway.  Walkers kept their distance and sometimes didn't even say hello. They were probably holding their breath, too.  I used to be afraid of dogs on the trails and in the fields.  Now it's dog-owners. The woods seemed a lot safer when I was all alone.  And I could always find a bathroom.

Italian-American Guidelines for Food Rationing during the Coronavirus Lockdown

Before most Italians were very worried about the Coronavirus, l'americana was starting to panic.  I did my grocery shopping early.  I didn't clear out the shelves, I was just thinking ahead.  No more weekends on the island meant I needed more food at the house in the country.  No more trips to the pizzeria meant I needed frozen pizza. I certainly bought more than I've ever bought before, but I only filled one cart.  I even thought I'd be laughing at myself in a week or so when my cupboards were filled with this extra stuff that I don't really even like and I was back to going out for pizza.

That was three weeks ago.  I still have almost everything I bought.  I've been eating the old stuff that's been in the cupboard for months.  There are jars of things I never sent as Christmas gifts because the package weighed too much at the post office, so I removed them. I found boxes of tea that I tried and didn't like and had frivolously gone out to buy new flavors. Today I ate frozen zucchini curry soup that had gone uneaten because I'd added too much peperoncino. (It's homemade soup because in Italy we don't have an aisle dedicated to Campbell's.)

Don't get the wrong idea. Grocery stores in Italy are still open, but I haven't been in one for three weeks. Living without lettuce and carrots seems a little easier than living with the Coronavirus. I'm sure I'm overexaggerating, but it doesn't make sense to have cancelled English lessons two weeks before the lockdown and then head out into the real world at the peak (wishful thinking) of the problem. Instead of waiting in line in the grocery store parking lot to enter one at a time and then follow the newly painted lines at the checkout indicating the safe distance, I'm thinking about how to ration.

I've already started diluting my beverages. 6 bottles becomes 12 if you fill the glass halfway with water first. Crackers (I've been out of bread for two weeks) don't need peanut butter AND jelly.  Unfortunately I found myself with more jelly than peanut butter, so I go two days with jelly and the third with Jif (wishful thinking again.....it costs 6 euros in Italy). Fortunately I've found 5 different brands at Gli Africani (Italians' friendly name for the African food stores) and they're all reasonably priced.

Expiration dates are being read more carefully.  First, to make sure you consume the fresh mozzarella that only has a few days left before you grate the parmesan which seems to last forever. Secondly, because what used to be thrown out on the date of expiration probably doesn't really have to be.

The most difficult decision is when to eat the chocolate.  I'm still cutting the Lindt balls in half and have just opened a box of individually wrapped Loacker cookies from Christmas. I made brownies and froze them because the eggs were about to expire and I thought brownies in the future sounded better than scrambled eggs right now. I've found a simple hot chocolate recipe that takes nothing more than melting a chocolate bar and pouring it in a cup of hot milk.  I just can't decide when to open the last carton of milk.

I was also thrilled to find a container of frozen chocolate chip cookie balls. It's an attempt at being a good Italian hostess.  No matter how big your surprise visit is, you're always invited in for coffee and something sweet. Unfortunately, it doesn't always work for me.  While waiting for those unexpected guests I usually end up eating the balls of dough one at a time.....until now.  It was already in my mouth when I thought of my brother-in-law that easily refused raw cookie dough for fear of salmonella. His fear of salmonella became my fear of an Italian hospital during the Cornavirus outbreak. Spitting out the half eaten ball was one of the saddest (and grossest) decisions I've had to make in the past three weeks.        

Nutella (which is cheaper here than in the States) has always been well-scraped from the inside of the jar before opening a new one. Now the scraping resembles that last squeeze of toothpaste, when there's always a little bit more. Until that day when there really isn't.  Fortunately I found a new jar because it wouldn't be a real Italian household without Nutella. 

 

               

A Gigantic Free Concert for the Coronavirus in Italy

I've left the house more than once for a nice long walk without my phone.  And I've returned more than once to get it.  The days I decide that I really don't want it in my pocket with my ID (proof to show the police where I live if they find me out in the woods during lockdown), blue plastic gloves (to open closed gates) and reading glasses (for the irresistible urge to send a message from the vineyard) are the days that I'm sure there's going to be a great photo that I'll be sad to have missed if I go phoneless. 

I'm not a very good cell phone user.  I don't properly close sites, turn things off or hang up phone calls which may be embarrassing, expensive and dangerous.  But the other day I welcomed my carelessness with a smile and a couple of tears.

From out of nowhere (my pocket) on the top of Due Ciliegi (that's what I call the hill with the two cherry trees on top) I heard piano music. I recognized the tune and all of the wrong notes as mine and for some reason up on that hill all alone I was moved by the out-of-tune recording of a piece I still haven't learned.  In these days of the Coronavirus, it doesn't take much to move me. I laughed when I found comfort in my own bad music and thought I might just find the courage to send someone the recording and tell the funny story.

That was two days ago.  There was no need to find the courage to share the recording and tell the story.  Instead I had to find the courage to perform in un gigantesco concerto gratuito (gigantic free concert) with only six hours to prepare. Here's the message I received this morning, the fourth day of the lockdown in Italy.

Sent by some colleagues from the Milan Conservatory.
Whoever knows how to play must play.
Attention!!
Remember this date:  Friday the 13th (scared smiley face) at exactly 6pm all of the inhabitants of Italy will take their instruments and play at their windows....for a few minutes our country will become a giant free concert.
Spread this message as much as possible to all of the Italians you know to make ourselves heard.

Hours later I got the message again with this addition:

If you don't have an instrument, sing. If you can't sing, clap your hands or make music with two lids.  

So, at exactly 6pm, the piece that had only been played for the due ciliegi two days earlier was performed live in un gigantesco concerto gratuito.  And it was far more moving than the first time.

          
P.S.  The pianist in this video is my 12-year-old neighbor.  The music is coming from her house where her mom is taking the video. Fortunately, my piece was drowned out by the doll playing the drums.  

Candles of Hope for the Coronavirus

When I was a kid we called them chain letters.  They were handwritten, had to be hand-delivered or taken to the post office and usually instilled some type of fear if you didn't keep them going.

Tonight I received my first chain letter via WhatsApp.  Unfortunately, there's no time for the letter to be handwritten, hand-delivered or taken to the post office. But there's still fear. It's not a fear that refusing to send the letter to ten people ensures that something bad will happen to you.  It's the fear that something bad has already happened and we don't know what else to do. 

I'll try to translate the message as accurately as possible.  And if it doesn't move you the way it moved me, the reason could be that it's a lousy translation.  But it could also be that you have no idea how it feels to be living in Italy with the Coronavirus.

Tonight let's all, and I mean all, from north to south,  light a candle in the window to illuminate this dark moment of hope and to tell all of the sick, and the doctors and nurses that are fighting on the front line that we are all united and with our dedication and commitment we will make it!!!!!
Pass it on.

Andra' tutto bene.

This is probably more of a city thing and it would make quite an impression to see a whole town lit up.  No cars have passed my house in the last five hours.  But I lit my candle, put it on my windowsill and sent the chain letter to my neighbor.  Four minutes later she wrote, "Can you see it?" Yes, I could see it and I cried and sent the chain letter to a lot more than just ten friends.

Whoever you are and wherever you are, I hope you never have to light a candle.  But if you do, I hope you'll pass it on. 

Learning the Rules of the Coronavirus Lockdown

On March 10 at 21.40 (9:40pm) the Prime Minister gave a live update of the Coronavirus outbreak in Italy.  (How sad that I no longer have to write northern Italy.) Instead of a list of everything that's closed, it's much easier to tell you what's still open. 

Grocery stores. Post offices. Banks. Pharmacies.

The truth is that for me, the news wasn't all that shocking. I've been living with my own (hopefully) warped idea of what it must be like out there in the real world, so when I heard this news it wasn't a lot different from the way I'd been imagining things for the past two weeks. That's one nice thing about a negative attitude. Things hit you like a pound of bricks instead of a ton.  

At the moment, I define the real world as anything that goes beyond my tiny blue house and its surrounding fields. I'm avoiding the media because I don't want to hear or see anything that I don't want to hear or see.  The only images I've seen of a country struggling with the Coronavirus are the ones I was obsessed with last month from Wuhan. But now instead of Tiananmen Square it's St. Mark's Square and the people are Italian instead of Chinese. 

I've asked friends to inform me when there's something they think I should know. And when I'm not sure about something, I ask. Tonight, 30 minutes before the update from the Prime Minister, I learned from one of my personal investigative reporters that for the past two days I'd been breaking the lockdown rules.

I'd just finished telling her about my walk and that I found a perfect place for a convertible picnic.  When I told her where it was she said that I couldn't drive there for a picnic. Why?  Because it's not in my town.  I explained that unlike other neighboring towns that aren't in my province, this town is, therefore it's picnicable.  But she told me the rules had changed.  On Monday, what was once a PROVINCE on lockdown (if you were in a red zone you couldn't leave your province), had become a COUNTRY on lockdown (no one could leave the country and I thought we couldn't move about from province to province inside the country).  The only exceptions are work, health and emergencies. But what I'd missed was that what was once a PROVINCE on lockdown had become a TOWN on lockdown.  And that means no one in the town can leave the town.

I told my friend the convertible picnic could wait and that in the meantime, I'd keep taking my daily 10-mile walks to look for other perfect picnic places. I think I've already mentioned that I'm a runner not a walker, but I've decided to play it safe and avoid a running injury that could lead to a trip to a hospital. I originally had that thought because the hospital wouldn't be a good place to be with the Coronavirus in town.  But now the reality is the hospital would have no bed for me. Not that I've ever gone to the hospital for a running injury, I usually just go to my physical therapist. But add to the list that I got a message from him today that he's been forced to close until at least March 25 and suddenly walking seems just fine.

Back to my personal investigative reporter who had started her personal investigation. She wanted to know where I'd been walking. Everywhere! Whenever I think it's time to turn around I ask myself why and keep walking.  I walk on trails through the woods that finish in prairies with colorful bee colonies. I walk on dirt roads that pass vineyards, groves of olive trees and freshly plowed fields.  My landmarks are the mountains to the north and the little red church on the top of the hill to the south.  I never get lost even though I seldom know exactly where I am. This had never been a problem until today when I learned that I can't leave my town on foot either. That means my 10-mile walk through the fields this morning was against the law. I'd surely crossed the border of at least three towns. 

I still have a bit to learn about living on lockdown. Searching for the confines in the land of combines isn't going to be easy, but I won't give up.

The Coronavirus Runs Freely While My COUNTRY is on Lockdown

Noise from the carpenters remodelling my neighbor's house had become a pleasant get-up call.  I was already awake when they arrived, but once they started moving I thought I should be moving too, so I got up.   That lasted until the first day of the lockdown. One might say that depression left me in bed until 9.30am, but I'd say that I missed my get-up call.  The carpenters hadn't shown up for work.  Instead of enjoying the first spring tweets of the early birds that aren't afraid of the Coronavirus, I was longing for the jackhammer, to prove that this was all a nightmare and I'd simply overslept.

During the first two weeks of my self-induced fear-based lockdown, I had organized a few lessons and walks. I wasn't really comfortable with either, but I wasn't ready to completely give up everything.  Most people wouldn't miss their croissant and cappucino at the bar every morning.  And they kept going to the gym which had closed and then reopened......and then closed again. And here I was afraid of a lesson at my 6-foot table and a walk on opposite sides of the street?  People thought I was crazy, and I agreed.   I thought they were crazy, and they disagreed.   

After two weeks my self-induced fear-based lockdown became a governmentally-induced provincial lockdown.  It sounded frightening to me.  But for many,  the only inconvenience of a lockdown issued by the government was the hassle of finding a new bar in their province.    

The lockdown officially kicked off yesterday.  It was the first of the next 26 days that I have nothing to organize (other than closets). But I think I've found the silver lining.  I've had the same to-do list for many, many years.  This is the perfect opportunity to just do it.  Then in years to come when I'm behind on my photo albums I can say, "The last time I did an album was during the Coronavirus." And if I really memorize a piece on the piano and I'm playing it at the train station in Venice when I arrive on a hot summer Thursday at  midnight I can say, "I learned it on the lockdown."  The list goes on and on and it sounds better all the time. What a beautiful scarf....it must have taken forever to knit. You've finally learned the 21 tenses in Italian. I've never seen such a well-organized armoire. Lockdown.  Lockdown.  Lockdown.

My enthusiasm grew throughout the day. As long as I could avoid the virus, I had big plans. I was sure my friends in nearby provinces were going to be envious of my provincial lockdown status.  Then surprisingly, a bit before midnight on our first day of lockdown, the decision makers that had pulled the all-nighter on Saturday changed the rules.  They put the whole country on lockdown.  So much for the happy graphic that depicts the Italian boot with red, green and white stripes. Now it's nothing but one big red zone.

The Coronavirus Runs Freely While My PROVINCE is on Lockdown

On day 14 of the Coronavirus outbreak in northern Italy (I call the real outbreak the day we went from 22 to more than 100 cases) I started to calm down a bit.  I'd lived through going to the supermarket, a few tense English lessons, disinfecting a new car and re-disinfecting a new car.

I was studying tutorials on the right way to wash my hands.  I was starting to remember to take the Coronavirus Emergency Kit every time I left the house. I gave myself kudos every time I sneezed into my elbow.  I was really starting to believe that I could make it through this and it was getting easier to laugh at myself, like everyone else was laughing at me. And then, towards the end of Saturday evening (March 7) I heard that there might be a lot more rules when I woke up on Sunday.  I understood that the decision makers were going to pull an all-nighter.  At  bedtime everything was still just a rough draft.  Rough drafts don't always come to fruition.  Just check my Yahoo account.  I went to bed unaware that it was the eve of my last day of freedom for at least one month. 

On Sunday they announced that starting Monday, March 9 my province in northern Italy would be on lockdown until the third of April (or maybe the fourth or fifth, I don't remember.  But it doesn't seem terribly important right now).  And anyway, there's a good chance the date will be extended.  I'm not the type that likes to think I might go on vacation or I might buy a blue convertible because I don't live well with disappointment. So memorizing the last day of the lockdown as the next day of freedom didn't seem like such a good idea.

Lockdown seemed eerie when I'd read about it in Wuhan, in a galaxy far, far away.  I saw the video of a man lowering his dog on a rope from his balcony so the dog could run in the grass below.  And the haunting one of the hi-rise neighborhood at night where the residents opened their windows and sang.  I'm not sure what word a good writer would use to describe that scene, but I'm at a loss.       

What does lockdown mean in the province of Treviso, Italy? I don't know all of the rules, but here's how it will affect my life. I can't have any more English lessons. First, because all forms of private lessons must be stopped immediately. And secondly, because most of my students live in the province next door where I'm no longer welcome.  The only people that can move between locked down and non-locked down provinces are commuters.  If they're stopped, they have to show proof of their place of employment. And if they have no proof, they'll be fined.  

Schools and universities are closed. All events are cancelled. Pools and gyms are closed. I'm not so sure about public transportation. Funerals and weddings can be attended only by close family.  Actually, that might take a little research.  I think that was a rule before the lockdown, so I imagine it's been changed.  I woke to  this message from an English student yesterday. 

my uncle Silvio is dead.....tomorrow the funeral cannot be done but there will be a greeting in church at 3pm.

By greeting, she meant goodbye.  In Italian she would have written un saluto, which can mean hello and goodbye. But our friends at Google translate choose greeting. And Italian doesn't have three words for die, dead and death. It's an especially difficult one to teach and translate.  She didn't mean to make her message so blunt.  But the truth is, it's the truth. 

I'm living in a time and place where funerals can't be done. And the only thing I can do is take walks in the countryside and write this silly blog.   Rest in peace, Uncle Silvio.      

Coronavirus Delivery

Just when I thought I had nothing else to write about and I was putting the final punctuation on the previous post, the delivery man pulled up.  Due to the fact that I have no doorbell attached to a gate at the end of my driveway because I have no gate (https://10leaves.blogspot.com/2014/07/lions-and-tigers-and-bears-oh-my-gates.html)  FedEx trucks can pull right up.

A private delivery truck in the driveway is usually a good sign. It saves me a trip to the Italian post office which often involves at least a 30-minute wait. In the past it also meant paying 15 to 25 euros in customs fees for packages from the States filled with marshmallows, Libby's pumpkin pie mix and Heath bars. But my favorite postman informed me that filling out the paperwork differently in the States meant I could stop paying for my gifts once they got to Italy.  So I informed my friends and it seems to be working.  The recent Reese's Peanut Butter Cup delivery was free. 

Fortunately, after years of roasting an array of Italian marshmallows, I've finally found some that seem to puff just like Kraft Jet-Puffed.  As for the Libby's, I've tried cooking a real pumpkin but decided it's too much work.  And I've recently found canned pumpkin, but instead of 100% Calabaza Pura (why is that written in Spanish right above "America's Favorite Pumpkin"?) it's only 82% pumpkin with some other added ingredients.  I've made a few pies and they're not so bad, but my Italian friends aren't big fans.  In my opinion it's because there's no Cool Whip. 

My normal 'delivery truck panic' involves the fact that maybe I'm still in my pajamas with unbrushed teeth and hair (even though my hair is never really brushed).  This time a different panic set in..... how to keep a Coronavirus courier a safe distance from your door.  As soon as he stepped out of the van I told him that he had just arrived at the house of the woman most frightened by the Coronavirus in all of Italy.  He smiled and kept approaching.  They're not used to hearing an American accent and they have to get used to me before they understand.   So I said it again, waving my arms for him to keep his distance.

Unfortunately he had to pass the package and I had to sign for it, so the transaction may have been wireless, but it couldn't be touchless.  I asked him to drop the package on the step telling him I'd open it with gloves later.  As for the signature, we both laughed when he offered me his pen.  I pulled mine from my ponytail and scribbled on the paper as it blew in the wind. He was intrigued to find an American living in this small town in northern Italy and ready with questions to which I replied, "You're the cutest delivery driver I've ever seen and I can't believe I'm sending you away so quickly."  It sounded almost as suave as an Italian casanova.  But that would have been, "You're the cutest delivery driver I've ever seen and even the Coronavirus won't keep me from you." 

If anyone ever figures out how to send me Cool Whip, hopefully I'll have the same delivery guy.  And even if it arrives through the regular mail, I'd be willing to pay the customs.   

Don't Lose................Hope.

Two weeks has passed since the emotional day that I got and lost my Italian driver's license.  Reporting it immediately to the police was easy because at that time I wasn't afraid of public places.  It was three days before the Coronavirus outbreak. The police told me to let a few days pass to see if it turned up.  And if it didn't, I had to go back to the driving school to request a new one.  At first I was dreading that trip due to embarrassment.  But a few days after the loss of the license and the arrival of the Coronavirus, instead of the dread being an issue of embarrassment it had become an issue of anxiety (which I suppose should also be embarrassing). 

Suddenly my new license didn't seem all that important. The lobby of the driving school is small and usually filled with students.  You really can't get out of the way and wait your turn six feet from the receptionist. I had the piece of paper from the police and I thought that for the time being it would be sufficient. How long it would really be sufficient was uncertain. We're in Italy, the land where little things often turn into big things overnight.

I spent the first week looking in ditches, checking my mailbox and expecting to see a huge bus pull in my tiny driveway to deliver my license. In my downtime I was planning what seemed the inevitable trip.  I went out of my way to pass the driving school at various times throughout the day recording high and low traffic periods (just kidding, but it had entered my mind).

I spent the second week the same as the first.  But, on the fourteenth day of the missing license and the eleventh day of the Coronavirus outbreak in northern Italy, I received good news from the bus company.  They had found my license. The leather case that I'd bought at G.H. Bass & Co. in Michigan City, Indiana was waiting to be picked up an hour away in Treviso, Italy, a new city on the Coronavirus map.

I found the courage to google the situation in Treviso before I made my move.  One headline included the word focolaio which I had to look up.  Here are a few synonyms:   focus, locus, site, hotbed, breeding ground. That's exactly why I shouldn't be googling.  A trip to the driving school to order a new license didn't seem like such a bad option.

Fortunately it was a nice day for a convertible ride and I convinced myself that there was no time like the present.  The bus station was empty. There was one guy in the lobby and one ticket seller seated safely behind his thick glass window. The station door was propped open, a new courtesy in these parts to curtail the spread of the virus. Fortunately I had my right hand man for the trip.  He passed through the door and went to the window.  I didn't pass through the door.  I stayed outside on the sidewalk long enough to wave at the ticket seller to prove my identity and then ran back to the car. 

The leather case made the trip home in a plastic bag.  There was no peeking at my driver's license photo that had only been in my possession for less than 30 minutes two weeks ago.  It was in the leather case in the plastic bag in the trunk.  I wanted to celebrate, but going out for pizza and gelato wasn't an option.  (If I'm your source of information for the Coronavirus in Italy, I don't want to mislead you.  Most places are open. But someone that's afraid to touch a plastic bag just because it was in a bus station for 30 seconds can probably live without pizza and gelato for a bit.)

I'm happy to say that my slogan for the Italian bus company still holds true.  Meglio tardi che mai, better late than never. 

See Spot........Run! English Lessons with the Fear of the Coronavirus

I teach private English lessons in northern Italy. I have the lessons at my home, at bars (that's Italian for coffee shops) and at students' offices and homes.  For many people here, life with the coronavirus has had to continue as normal.  People wash their hands a bit more often (hopefully) but they still go to work.  Fortunately for me, the choice is mine. 

The first week of the outbreak, I only had two lessons.  The first was at my house where we modified our seating arrangement.  Instead of sitting across from each other with the narrow table between us, we sat at the ends, getting as close to the suggested two meter safety zone as possible.

*What happened to Dick and Jane?

Regardless of the distance, I was nervous.  I opened and closed the door so my student wouldn't touch it, tried not to breathe too deeply, stifled little coughs in my elbow and checked for tiny water spots on my notes that might make the ink run.  I have to (and hate to) admit that I use my cell phone as a dictionary. But now instead of sliding it across the table for her to take a look, I took a screen shot and sent a message from my end to hers.  When we finished the lesson, I opened and closed the door again and waited for her to drive away.  Then I put on my plastic gloves, cleaned her chair with alcohol and put the tablecloth in the washer.  

The second lesson was at a student's lab.  I usually meet him at the church's recreation center, but a place swarming with ping-pong playing kids and roaming retirees leaving the matinee didn't seem like the best place to avoid the virus.  My student is a chemist and spends his days alone testing buckles, rivets, leather, snaps, zippers and anything else that has to do with the designer fashion industry in Italy.  His lab is spotless and the air is recirculated 50 times a day.  It seemed like a good place to get my feet wet to re-enter normal life (if you can call a laboratory a place for normal life).  We kept our distance and he opened and closed the doors for me so I wouldn't infect his lab.  My parting gift was a mask.

As we come to the close of the second week, lessons are getting easier.  I've added a leaf to my kitchen table due to the conflicting reports on the real safety distance, and if need be, I can add another.  I've offered Skype lessons, writing lessons and a discount price for a "walk and talk in English". And just as I've started finding my courage, they announced that schools will be closed for a third week.  It's kind of like hearing you've got a 'snow day', but the snow is volcanic ash.


*Photo caption not intended for children under 40 (or Italians).

CoronaviROSE

For the first month of 2020 I googled the coronavirus in China.  For most of the second month, I did the same thing.  But with it's not so-warm-benvenuto to northern Italy, I stopped googling.  Most of my news poured in from worried friends in America and that's where I noticed the name change. According to the the World Health Organization "COVID 19 is the name of the illness caused by the coronavirus" (which I've decided no longer needs to be capitalized).

Unfortunately, I've become so used to the coronavirus, I'm finding it hard to change its name.  COVID 19 seems like a nickname and according to Cambridge Dictionary a nickname is "an informal name for someone or sometimes something, used especially to show affection."   And since we haven't felt a lot of affection for COVID 19, we aren't embracing the new name. It came as the coronavirus and (hopefully) it will leave as the coronavirus. And anyway,

"What's in a name?
That which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet."
---William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
(better known in Italy as Romeo e Giulietta, pronounced as I've mentioned before "Ro-MAY-o ay Ju-li-ET-ta"). 

  

Anxiety and the Coronavirus

I may not be suffering from the Coronavirus (yet), but I am suffering from mental anxiety caused by the Coronavirus.  I've recently discovered that walking and laughter are the best medicine for my illness.  Since nothing else in Italy is going hand in hand these days, I've found that these two make quite a nice pair. 

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about what was in the big white cloud.

I'm really a runner not a walker, but for the last few days walking has seemed a bit less stressful.  I'm afraid of a running injury that might call for a trip to the hospital....a place most of us are tyring to avoid at the moment.  And if I run a bit faster than usual and feel short of breath, I'll be sure it's a new respiratory problem.  So, for the time being, I'm not embarrassed to be a walker.

A friend invited me for a walk the other day and I warned her that I was a bit nervous.  I was happy when she said that she was nervous, too, because things are always safer with two healthy wackos. I kept my glasses on and tied my red bandana around my neck like Howdy Doody.  It was right there ready to pull up over my mouth and nose at any time.

We chose to walk on country roads.....she stuck to one side and I stuck to the other.  It seemed ridiculous.  But there's no sense in going out for a breath of fresh air if you're constantly in panic that maybe the air's not so fresh.

When I walk alone I prefer the countryside.  I don't have to worry about bumping into anyone and trying to casually pull up my bandana.  I like to walk through the vineyards and olive groves  talking TO and laughing AT myself. 

On the way home today I opted for the shortcut.  Not because it's shorter, but because it's a long set of stairs up to an old church on the top of a hill.  It's shady in the summer and a nice place to stop to stretch.  When I got to the bottom of the stairs today there was a closed gate.  I'm not sure if it's always been open and I've just passed right through without noticing or if it's new.  But having left home without my Coronavirus Emergency Kit a closed gate was a problem. 

Houston, we've got a problem.

If I opened it I'd have to walk home with a possibly infected glove and try to remember not to touch my face.   Or should I remove the glove and infect my hand and put the glove back on until I got home?  But the idea of a possibly infected hand instead of only a possibly infected glove was too much.  And maybe I'd take the risk and it would be locked anyway.  The best decision seemed to be turning around, adding the extra two kilometers and considering it part of my Coronavirus Weight Loss Program.

 

A New-Car Smell (of alcohol)

Picking up a new (used) car should be exciting. And it should be even better if you haven't driven for 8 years and the new (used) car is a convertible.  Unfortunately, I would have been happy to leave it at the dealership and go pick it up some sunny day when the Coronavirus had changed its course.  But seeing that it had been paid for before the outbreak, I thought it was safer to have it in my possession.

Before leaving for the big event my thoughts should have been to pack a hat and a scarf and a ponytail holder for the drive back home.  Instead I was worrying about packing the Coronavirus Emergency Kit with plastic gloves, papertowels and pink alcohol.

I entered the dealership with my coat, hat and wool gloves.  The gloves seemed a little less conspicuous worn with my coat and hat.  I was told I'd have to wait a few minutes and a woman led me to an office.  She showed me in through one door and then told me to shut the other door to keep the heat in.  I chose to leave the other door open.  I thought a ventilated room was better than a closed one.

When it came time to sign the papers I realized that I'd forgotten my pen.  It has since been added to the Coronavirus Emergency Kit for future outings.  I used their pen to sign the documents but kept my gloves on and kept repeating (to myself, I hope), "Don't touch your eyes or nose with these gloves.  Don't touch your eyes or nose with these gloves."

We went to the garage where the salesman got in and drove my car out to the parking lot.  He explained a few controls, touching each one as he explained.  I learned nothing.  I just watched his dirty fingers on my buttons.

Before getting out of the car he started to put the top up.  I stopped him and said I'd be driving home with the top down.  He said that in Italy in February, you don't drive with the top down.  I told him not to worry because I'd probably driven with the top down a few times in Chicago in February.

It was time for the send-off.  Like all sensible Italians, he suggested that I stop after a kilometer to put the top up because it really wasn't good for my health to have it down in the cold. Then he stuck out his hand for a healthy Coronavirus handshake and laughed when I refused with my gloved hands. 

Little does he know, I stopped after a kilometer like he suggested and threw the wool gloves on the floor.  I got out the Emergency "Car-own-a-virus" Kit, put on the blue plastic gloves and started sterilizing the interior with pink alcohol.

I'm not sure why it looks like I'm giving the peace sign. I think I was just trying to get used to the gloves.  Or maybe it's foreshadowing that peaceful times are coming.