CHIAVARI, Italy – Eight days after the move and still no phone, but I have to say the most amazing thing has happened. I had a phone call the other day from a guy saying he was with Telecom – Telecom being the granddaddy of Italian telephone companies much like Bell in the USA. He said Telecom had been contacted by Vodafone – my telephone company – and asked Telecom to please come to my house and set up my telephone service. It is a totally free service offered by Vodafone, he said, and you (meaning me) don’t even have to sign anything. Signing things are a big deal here. Of course there is no way he could be here before Monday, which was 5 days away, but still. Yes, yes, I said. Whatever time, whatever day, just ring my bell, I will even bake cookies for the occasion.
So what do you think of that Mr. Electrician, you know who you are. The one I’ve been trying to get to come over for a week now to 1) find the phone line and get me connected to the world again, and 2) see if you can plug up some of these holes in the ceiling that have light bulbs connected to wires hanging out of them. I detest ceiling lights and only in cases of dire necessity do I want them in any space that I live in.
Of course Mr. Electrician decided to call last night and say that he will be here on Saturday. That’s even better than Monday, and with all the things I still have to do I really don’t feel like making cookies anyway. Mr. Telecom/Vodafone is now an extra added bonus.
I confess I find this whole business of dragging closets, sinks and stoves, kitchen cupboards, countertops, and light fixtures behind you every time you move – ahhh, what is the word I’m searching for – oh right – ridiculous. It would be less ridiculous if every habitat had exactly the same dimensions so you could just slide your favorite closet (do people have favorite closets?) stove or washing machine into the designated spot and plug it in, but it doesn’t work that way. Nothing is standard. Not even the plugs on the end of lamps and appliances, so what’s the point ?
That mystery will have to be pondered later as my laundry is ready to be hung out. Yes, out. My landlord put two small clotheslines right outside my bathroom window. The disturbing newspaper articles I’ve read in the past of housewives falling to their death trying to retrieve clothes from their clotheslines choose this very moment to pop into my head, and I make a mental note not to hang anything out on the clotheslines that has any value, sentimental or monetary.
So if you are traveling on the Riviera this summer and start taking quaint photos of laundry flapping in the breeze above village streets, look closely. You just might see my favorite plaid pj bottoms and my comfy old sweatshirt flapping in tandem with neighbor’s lavender sheets.
To be continued.