(click on pictures to enlarge)
I returned to Rome with a mixture of dread, fear and longing. Dread, because I knew I would be surrounded by memories of Loris and that I would miss him terribly……..I did and still do! Fear, because there were so many bureaucratic things to sort out which I would have to deal with in Italian……..there were and still are! Longing, because I found myself missing the eternal city with its beautiful weather, historic buildings, and delicious produce……..I wasn’t disappointed!
It was a stressful return for the obvious reasons but things happened which I hadn’t accounted for. It never occurred either to me or to Loris’ brother to get the apt cleaned before I arrived so there was dirt and dust everywhere after a year of not being used. Beats me where it came from with all the windows and shutters tightly closed. The water heater wouldn’t work so a plumber had to be called just after I put my bags down. The lock on the front door is an old-fashioned one and had to be replaced in our absence. When I stepped out to get my phone activated, I turned the key once to lock the door and when I returned, I couldn’t unlock it no matter what I did. I found out after being locked out that the key has to be turned either twice or four times, never once or three times or the tumblers fall out of place. Only in Italy! So there I was locked out of the apt, feeling jet lagged, waiting for both the plumber and a locksmith to arrive. It wasn’t unpleasant sitting on the steps in the sun and both the plumber and locksmith came and soon set things right but it wasn’t a start I would care to repeat.
I was just beginning to start getting things in place when a disaster occurred. I went for a walk a couple of days ago and as I stepped off the kerb to cross the road, my foot got stuck in a pothole and I fell. Well what do you know but I’ve broken a metatarsal bone in my foot, one of those long bones that go from your toes to your ankles. I’m in a hard plaster cast that goes from just under my knee to the tips of my toes. I have what they call ‘bastoni canadese’ here, not sure why they’re called that. They’re just regular forearm crutches and the ones I have are made in Italy. I can’t go too far in them and definitely can’t leave the apt as I can’t go up or down stairs. We have an elevator in the building but since we live on a hill, there’s a fairly long flight of stairs to get from the front door to the gate. So here I am sitting in an armchair with my leg propped up. However, the sun is shining, the sky is cloudless, the birds are singing and I can go out on the balcony. It could be worse, I could be in hospital with a broken hip or some such thing. At least that’s what I keep telling myself!