Eternal optimism is a beautiful hallmark of my character. In other words, I am a chump.

I have ordered a new bathing suit to be sent in the mail in preparation for the summer. I had to order it online to be shipped because the style of bathing suits around here -- every single one, no matter how grandmotherly and modest is the rest of the suit -- is to have only a thin string of dental floss going up your butt, leaving the rest uncovered. Now, I make no judgements about the amount of butt that other people choose to exhibit to the world. You go, girl. But if I were to wear such a suit, I would spend the whole time trying to pick that bit of string out of my butt crack. And I just don't think that would be attractive.

So I ordered this new bathing suit and crossed my fingers that my friends at the Post Office would somehow allow it to come to our house here in lovely Capriglia-by-the-Sea -- perhaps in a moment of inattention. I am following its progress very closely. So far, it has gone to Milan, then to Rome, then back to Milan again. It is now at Milan Malpensa Airport (MXP) -- the international airport in Milan, as opposed to Milan Linate, which is for domestic flights -- waiting to fly out of Italy to god-only-knows where. One thing about our mail -- it certainly gets to see the world. I will update on its whereabouts when/if I get news.

We continue to search for houses to buy. We were offered one that is about halfway down the mountain at a very reasonable price. True, it has no bathroom, but -- on the bright side -- it is surrounded by dense forest which could possibly suffice. We also have a lead on one that is next to the church almost at the level of the belltower. Jonathan thinks that this is a mark against it, but I think it would be lovely to be able to see straight into the belfry and watch the hunchback ringing the bells. Not to mention how much we would probably learn about the habits of bats.

We are going to help out a bit at the pub this summer now that it is getting close to the time when Alice's baby is due. We will be in charge of adding up all the bills and doing the money on nights when it is very busy and crowded. This will now make the second time in my life when I have ended up working in a bar just because I was around all the time anyway. The first time was in North Carolina at The Cave and The Drunken Spelunker's Guide to Plato is based on that. If I ever write another book about our time here (after the one that I'm currently writing about our first thousand days), I will call it Barflies in the Belfry.

 

Today for the first time in weeks, Jonathan and I are having a quiet day at home, just the two of us. The sky looks stormy in between moments of chiaroscuro sunlight, but the rain is holding off.

I am spending the day researching international movers. The political news from the US is so frightening and the Magats seem so violent and deranged and bent on the destruction of everything that we fear complete chaos there by the time the fall election arrives. So we are going this summer to begin the process of shipping to Italy the things that we left in storage so long ago in Colorado Springs.

But, of course, we are leaving behind Aiden and Tris, who are all I really worry about in the US. But they don't want to come here with us -- at least not now. So I comfort myself by believing that I am building a safe haven for them here, if they ever need it.

In the meantime, we have been hosting guests -- five groups so far in the past seven weeks, staying anywhere from two days to two weeks. And we ourselves went last weekend to visit a friend near Milan. We went to Lake Como, where I had never been before, and even more excitingly, to a lovely pastry shop in Monza where we walked in and ordered "one of everything." Then we ate them all over the course of the next two days. That is the sort of thing I wouldn't have dreamed of doing when I was younger and more sensible. 

But I am older now and more rash and much more aware of the brevity of life and of the certainty that many, many chances will never come again.

We have started going to our beach club now, the Bagno Internazionale, even though the season doesn't really swing into gear until the beginning of June. There is just enough activity that some beach chairs are out, but not enough to scare away the sandpipers and the feeling of fathomless aquatic serenity.

I am in limbo, waiting to hear something good from some publisher about my book. I have been waiting for what seems like a very long time. Jonathan gave a talk in Italian at MUSA about Artificial Intelligence. The boys at the pub have moved outside to the terrace on sunny afternoons, but are still drinking red wine, not having made the jump to summer prosecco just yet. 

I have discovered absinthe-flavored candy for sale at the store where Jonathan buys his coffee beans and am now a lost soul. 

Flush with the sugar high from all the pastries, I made an obviously foolhardy decision to try to mail a present to a friend in the United States. The extraordinarily dour woman at the shipping counter -- ensconced behind about a mile of yellow crime scene tape covered with signs saying "Keep Out" -- demanded to know what we were shipping and then told us to fuck off. It's nice to know that in this world of dizzying changes and rapid-fire transitions, that some things never change. We can always count on no success of any kind regarding the mail.

Mimmo came across and dispatched (I assume -- and hope -- with great rapidity, although I was fortunately not there in person) two very large snakes living in the grass near our front gate. The wisteria is over for the season, but the poppies glow like pocket sunsets in the grass everywhere.

Highlights of the week:

1. We took the train to Milan to see the opera of "The Little Prince" at La Scala and all along the way, we saw the lovely rose-colored and terra cotta and lemon-yellow houses outside the train windows.

2. I drank a 22 euro gin and tonic on the rooftop terrace of our hotel in Milan. I only drank one.

3. We knew the opera was for children, but we hadn't realized it was also by children -- La Scala has a school for little budding singers. My two favorites were the ones dressed as asteroids in big globe costumes who had to stand on stage and revolve for a good twenty minutes. I almost died from the adorableness.

4. There was a harpist at breakfast in the hotel who played "Moon River," "What a Wonderful World," and "Over the Rainbow."

5. When we got home, Jonathan had to leave almost immediately for a conference in Rome, so I texted him some pictures of me later that day. Or at least I intended to. Somehow, I managed instead to send them to our neighbor Fabio across the street. Now I have to hide inside my house for the rest of my life.