January 25 - A Chinese housewarming
Elizabeth and I have been itching to have another Asian Food festa. We decided to meld it with a housewarming party at Melchiorre's.
For some reason shrouded in Sardinian mystery, Melchiorre has decamped from the family home in the country. He won't say why, but he sold off the pigs, gave away the dogs, packed his belongings and moved into the family apartment in Umbertide. We've all speculated, but to no avail -- it's a closely held secret. It's a shame. He really is a man of the fields... happy wandering the hills searching for wild asparagus and edible greens. Umbertide's own Eule Gibbons.
His apartment is large -- 3 bedrooms, 2 baths and the all important fireplace bog enough to roast an animal. There is even a small terrace. (Mental note to start an herb garden for him... but will he remember to water it?)
When Elizabeth and I first spoke about an Asian fest, I commented that I'd like to keep it small. I don't enjoy cooking this type of food for a legion. All the work comes down to the last moments and careful timing... and the last time 15 guests felt too big for me. Could we keep the invitee list down? No problem. All told, I think we identified 15-20 people between the 3 of us. More than I wanted but workable. By the time the festa day rolled around, Melchiorre had mentioned this party to almost everyone he ran into. We had no idea how many people might show up 35? 40? More? I was slated to make chicken satay, 2 or 3 thai sauces, sesame broccoli, rainbow fried rice and a thai dessert with sticky rice and coconut milk. Even for 20 this menu was pushing my limits. I was getting testy. Every time Melchiorre mentioned another person he'd invited I could feel my eye twitch. I was starting to feel martyred. And Elisabeth kept laughing and saying it was no problem... the more the merrier. They'd better be merry. I certainly wasn't.
Predictably, it all came out swimmingly. The party was a smashing success... with around 40 people. Melchiorre roasted a pork shoulder in his fireplace. He also made sushi and a marinated salmon. Elisabeth provided crudite and a lot of the preparation work. Matchsticking carrots is a bitch. The food turned out quite well. The satay was great. People even likes the sticky rice concoction. Better than all the food, was this great mix of people.
Melchiorre's accordion teacher came and sang. Alessandro is one of the 5 or 6 concert level accordionists in Italy. That might not sound like much when you are weaned on bad accordion and Lady of Spain... but this man was phenomenal. He made the accordion sound like a real instrument, not a joke. Once he began playing, a number of other people began singing folk songs. Patrick Wright had brought his fiddle. He and Alessandro improvised together. It was a fabulous sight to watch two musicians find a common plane and revel in music. These two had never met and have different musical styles (concert accordion meets Celtic fiddle). They followed each others lead, they laughed and improvised over each other's songs. It created a wonderful mood. People danced in this tiny living room with the buffet table pushed into the corner and chairs all around the perimeter. Melchiorre did his signature high kicks and dips. He made me tango. The woman who introduced sushi to Umbertide (read back in the archive for that story) did a Russian folk dance... the one where you fold your arms, squat and kick your legs out in front of you. The one no human can sustain for more than two kicks (without vodka). She kept at it for ten or so kicks (without vodka). It was a grand party. Even I, the martyred cook, managed to find my merry face.
Getting the car window replaced was a 4-day circular errand that encompassed driving all over northern Umbria in Melchiorre's jeep, visiting junkyards and chatting with mechanics. Finally, we ended where we should have begun, in Spedalicchio with Luigi, the local mechanic who can fix anything. He was very sorry, but he could not get a used window. I would have to pay full price. Fine... since I have no other option. I just wanted the car back. Luigi... or Santo Luigi to me... charged me $70 for a new window including labor. I've never owned a car before. I have no idea what things should cost... but it seemed to me that the window alone should be $70 or more. Labor? I was expecting it to be more like US plumbers' rates. And Luigi did not expect me to pay on delivery. "Bring it the next time you pass by." There are some things that you just have to love about Italy.
January 25
Went to Oplas with Paola to hear a friend of hers -- a DJ named Massimo -- spin his records. It was a nice evening... conversation (in English), a few beers and some dancing. Near the end of the evening, a young guy came over and began a conversation (in Italian). I've seen him around a bit... in fact, he is hard to overlook. He's cute as a bug's ear -- a lovely café au lait color with short dreadlocks and large, brown eyes. A pleasant cross between Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows and Lenny Kravits... that intriguing bi-racial beauty. The few times I've seen him out and about, he has smiled and tried to chat but I've always blown him off (nicely). Tonight for some reason I chatted with him... or tried to. The music was loud and the conversation was... Italian. But I did well. I understood him and he understood me. (I proudly announced to Paola, my language teacher, "Look, I'm talking to strangers!"
As I was leaving, he asked for my phone number (very politely). I went through a lightening fast mental process -- "good idea/bad idea, will this become another stalker thing that has to be managed?" -- and decided to just do it... give him the number. He was very sweet... asked if it was the real number or a decoy to get rid of him. Smart lad. I gave him the real number.
If he calls, great... it's a chance to meet someone new. He turned out to be Moroccan (name, Rasheed) so it's an opportunity to learn about another culture, one I know very little about. And yes, I immediately thought about Islamic jihad, secret Al Queda cells, and Bush's little plan for Iraq. I told him I was Canadian. It's a cheat but it gives me time to see how he feels about the US, Americans and the Great Satan. Canada is such an easy beard.
January 20
January has been cold and a bit rainy... dismal. Nothing compared to the northeastern US. from what I hear...but still I live in a cave for heavens sake... sun is my friend.
We are all in flux. Jan left for a 5-month stint in Portland. Elizabeth is preparing for a month in California. Mark is packing his belongings, trying to decide his life's path. Pancesi is stacked hi with rocks and sand and stonemasons. I'm struggling with the computer shutdown and how to pay the bills in the meantime. January was my projected time for computer work... forms, processes, inventories, programs and plans. Now without the computer... eek. I am adopting a Zen stance. Don't think about it, just move forward.
Worse than the lack of work is the lack of communication...that lingering internal pressure to update the website and email people. I turned to my basket of stationary and, pen in hand, did a fairly good job writing letters and postcards. Every week I think, "this is the week it will all sort out. I'll be back on line within a few days" Yet the days stretch on...
January 13
I went to Perugia with Paola Wright to enjoy big city life. We took my computer into the shop, wandered the center of town and found a trattoria for dinner. It was late when we came home, and we were both tired. It was cold so we hurried our goodbyes, intent on getting indoors quickly. In the rush, I forgot that I'd put my quasi-empty backpack on the backseat floor. The computer had made the trip in my bag with an assortment of computer cables, phone lines, and connectors, as well as my US cell phone and Symantec disks. (The various little things one carries when one is addicted to technology.) In the morning, I sauntered out to the parking lot to find my window smashed and the back pack gone. What are you going to do, right? What's done is done. I'll miss the StarTac, my LAN connectors and my KPMG rollup phone lines.
More disturbing was the big, white car that turned in the road as I went into the parking lot. A man drove into the lot and sat in his car watching me approach my car. When I stopped to survey the wreckage, he got out and came over. As you might imagine, I was not in the mood to chat idly. At first, I thought he might actually be offering assistance. (It's a fairly common thing here for strangers to help you.) The man was fairly big and aggressive as Italians go. He wanted to have coffee with me and even the sight of my smashed window and a polite "I don't think so" did not dampened his enthusiasm. He asked me all kinds of questions I did not try to answer. I just waved vaguely at the window and the shower of glass bits. Finally, I got into the car, telling him I had to go to an appointment. He reached in and stroked my face. What balls. What a tone deaf goofball. Being nice never seems to be the answer. It was odd and uncomfortable. He was the scariest person I've met here... that said, it was broad daylight and this isn't Queens. I was not quaking in my pumps.
Chick chick nu-nu
Elizabeth and Mark have chickens. They have three red hens called the Three Graces. Whenever I visit, the graces make me smile with their odd, off kilter gait and burbling, clucking sounds. The last two chickens, whose names and descriptions elude me (chickens make such a lasting impact) disappeared... either chicken rustled or chicken dinner. Those two were normal chickens, staying together, rushing away from people. The Graces are fearless. Mark carries them around like kittens. They get into everything and scratch the hell out of the gardens. Elizabeth is displeased. They eat the cats' food and try to come in the house. Her doorstep is continually festooned with chicken droppings. In a strange role reversal, the cats are eating the chickens' food. Just goes to show you, there is quite a wide range in "normal" behavior.
March 7
Its been more than two months since I've been able to get on-line. On January first, after the new year's madness, I went on line to write e-mails and load up the latest journal entries. While reading email, I clicked on a message from a friend in Australia (who shall remain nameless) and was bitten by the Lirva worm... a new computer infection that my virus software did not detect. Its taken 2 months and change to sort everything out.
Just getting the problem identified took a week. My local guy was too harried and distracted to focus. After a few days of wheel-spinning, I used his systems to identify the virus. He seemed unable to fix it, so I took my machine to Perugia (the big city) and another computer service company. (If anyone is looked for technical assistance in Perugia, I recommend InfoTeach.) Their technician said they needed to rebuild my entire system -- the virus had corrupted everything. Infoteach did not have the right programs to rebuild me, so I was forced to call on "the elves" in San Francisco for a recovery disk.
I owe the "techie" elf squad for allowing me to impose my problems from 10,000 miles away. But the elves came through swimmingly, and in the best of humor. We had about a two-week delay in shipping and, of course, when the package reached Italy it was another week before Fed Ex got around to delivering it. Then another week slipped by between rebuilding the system and getting home to plug in. But, here I am back to normal... or somewhere in that wide range of normal.
I am back on-line -- wading through 2 months worth of work, journal entries and messages -- and thrilled to be part of the hi-tech generation again! But back to January...
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2003
