Moving On

Well, winter wore on and we decided (after paying over 1,200 Euro to heat the tiny, 2-bedroom country place for three weeks) that it would be best to make the leap and move into our apartment in town, even though it was not completely finished. Better to save some money and live with a little dust, we thought.

So when the kitchen/dining room floors had been redone for the third time, still seeming a bit like gray and white zebra stripes instead of the "smoky" cement look we had requested, we directed our painters (that painters were applying resin floor should have been a clue) to wax it and get out. We moved in.

I must confess that I drastically underestimated the level of chaos to an alarming degree when I thought this would be a good idea. It had been years since we'd lived in a construction zone, and at that time we had neither a child nor much in the way of personal belongings, at least compared to our current state. Regardless, in we went.

March was a blur. Every time we felt we had cleaned up one room, the carpenter/painter/electrician/plumber would reappear, damage whatever the other contractor had done and cover the place with yet another coat of dust. The staircase got installed, ruining our new paint job. Baseboards were applied, destroying the retouched walls. Bathrooms emitted a strange odor and we discovered that ventilation had never been opened in the roof space. Ceiling fans worked one day, then not the next. Our front door resembled the entrance to a crack house, since we had tried to pry off the "modern" veneer the previous owner had applied, and were awaiting construction of the new ones Piero had designed.

We still had dozens of huge moving boxes scattered throughout, and after emptying and unwrapping the contents of several at a time, the rooms would fill with paper and cardboard. The nearby recycling center employee is now on a first-name basis with my husband. Poor Piero assembled miles of closets and shelving from IKEA so we could finally hang up our clothes and unpack our books. (Remember the only retail establishment in the country where you can find zip-lock bags? It's also the only place where closets and shelving won't cost you your first-born child. IKEA is the salvation of Italy.)

Gradually, the chaos cleared. It has been two months since we hauled in our suitcases, and we actually had a party April 3 to celebrate my first half-century. Nothing like a deadline to make you clean up your house. We even hired a cleaning lady - Now that we can see the floor, we need help dusting it.

Soon the kitchen counters will be finished and we'll even have towel bars in the bathrooms - So come visit!

Oops

For those of you who read my February posting, you will note that I implied all Italian males seem to be oblivious to the needs of housework and chore-sharing, especially as relates to the kitchen.

A BIG apology to my dear husband, who is definitely an exception to this! After reading my description of the ski trip issue, he (rightfully) took offense, so I promised I would publicly clear his name. He truly does tons of work around the house, probably more than I do lately. Sorry, Piero!

It's time to continue - I must get to work and update. Many changes since February and I hope I remember enough of them to chronicle here. Hope all is well, wherever you are!