The Daughter of the Engineer comes through…

 

July 9, 2008

Rachel’s always thinking. What to do? What to do? She decides she’d prefer to not be widowed in Italy and comes up with a plan…to get a bike for me that actually has brakes. Since we noticed that most of the bikes in the kiosks have “disappeared” or have been stripped down, we feel almost no guilt with Rachel’s plan to find one of the few somewhere in the city and swap it out with my loser of a bike.

The day before, Rachel had gotten all excited when she found a bike in a park near the train station, tested its brakes while still on the rack, and pronounced us good to go. I hated to have to burst her bubble but I had to… since it would be my butt on the nonexistent seat! Disappointed but undeterred, we returned home to regroup and check the map for more kiosks. We then realized we had missed a kiosk in the same park with the seatless bike.

The next day (because we don’t want to exercise too much in one day) we head there and score! There is one bike in the rack and it has both a seat and, so far so good, brakes that work. These beggars are now getting choosy: we decide we like the basket on the loser bike and Rachel says why don’t we take BOTH bikes back home and swap out the good parts from the loser to the “good” bike. After a few minutes of debate over the ethics of the situation, we decide to do it anyway. Partners in crime, we head home.

Where did she get these tools, I wanted to know, now worried that bike swapping wasn’t her only crime in Italy. But apparently, ever resourceful, Rachel had brought them from Seattle and supplemented what she didn’t have with tools from our (Italian) kitchen junk drawer. (It’s good to know that junk drawers are universal, isn’t it?) And fifteen minutes later… Voila, a lean, mean riding machine reborn! My hero always.

Okay, so that leaves us still with the loser, my new stallion, and her windshield/basket donkey waiting for us (we hoped) in the original kiosk. As we approach our earlier mecca I remind Rachel that each bike has a number on it that corresponds with a number on the rack and so how were we going to leave Bike # 365 in Bike # 255’s spot? We had speculated prior to our outing that since most of the bikes had been ripped off perhaps the rack wasn’t that sophisticated in design. Well the test came… and the design won. Our keys didn’t work. We of course said (with a chorus of Italians in agreement), but this is Italy! We should have known that they’d get it half right!!

Postscript…the two criminals leave the loser, breakless bike and make it look like it’s locked in the slot even though it isn’t, and the numbers don’t match. (Like anyone ever looks!) I ride the stallion to the donkey’s crib and pretend to lock it to the loser’s old number but really just lock it to itself. We decide to go home and take a nap as crime sprees can be exhausting. We’ll ride our new bikes another day.

Today's Quote...

July 7, 2009

As Kim and I were sitting in front of one of the many gelato places, eating our cones, she said:

"Some people watch pretty girls walk by; I like to watch the ice cream cones walking by..."

Never look a gift horse in the mouth...

July 6, 2008


Earlier this week, Rachel noticed a kiosk containing a bicycle rack and a couple of (what looked like) abandoned bicycles in one of the main piazze and wandered over to take a closer look. There was a large sign with what looked like a lot of rules but in the “headline” was the word gratuito (free of charge). There were 3 or 4 bikes missing on the numbered rack with keys inserted into the corresponding numbers. We looked at each other, could this really be true- free bikes?? And if so, how could we take advantage of such a great find? We attempted to read further. The Italian was a bit too hard for us but we were kind of getting the gist. We figured out this was likely a city sponsored (commuter?) program, allowing residents of Alessandria to borrow bikes between the hours of 7:30 am and 19:30 pm. We became very excited and decided to return the next day, dictionary in hand, to see if we were right, and if so, read the fine print.

The very next day we were motivated to get out of the house early for once and hit the piazza. We two goofy middle-aged American women stood for at least a half hour in front of the kiosk, looking up words, and carefully reading the entire, lengthy rules of the program. We were so pleased with ourselves that upon arrival here we had become legal residents of the City of Alessandria (which seemed to be the only requirement of bike use). Our next hurdle: having to find the office in a specific municipal police building in order to show proof of residency, put down a deposit, and thus obtain a key. Not to mention, explain what we needed in Italian.

With my uncanny sense of direction (which apparently only serves me out of the country as my daughter might quickly point out) and our handy little map, we found the right place. A very nice woman sitting in front of one of the offices surmised we needed help. (observation: there always seems to be at least one such person in all official places here who at first appears to be a bystander but turns out to be on the payroll, perhaps as “official greeter”). She found a partial-English speaking police officer (a little too Fascist looking for my taste- black boots with pants tucked in and all but nice) who took us to the right office after eventually determining what the hell we crazy Americans were looking for. Fifteen minutes later, we were registered, given keys and a map of the 6 bicycle kiosks around the city, and we didn’t even have to give the clerk a deposit. (I suspect this was an oversight but he was probably so flustered by all of our questions about the how-tos and wherefores that he probably just wanted us to leave, sooner rather than later).
Since our life here can be so exhausting; we needed our siesta time. Domani would be soon enough to implement “Signore Americane sulle bicciclette.” (I just love the fact that 99.9% of you can’t correct my Italian, let alone know exactly what I’m saying).

Domani came as well as our first foray to the closest (and original) kiosk. Careful readers will remember that in my first paragraph I mentioned what would turn out to be a key characteristic of the bikes and what didn’t take us long to discover. “a couple of (what looked) like abandoned” in other words should have immediately been determined as “still there” and why were they the only two there yesterday and today- where were the others?? Ignoring the obvious we decided to go on our first bicycle outing anyway. Helmets are nonexistent here; the streets are cobblestone and brick, uneven at best, missing at worst. Rachel’s bike had a front basket that wouldn’t go down all the way so she was riding with basket as windshield and I (with basket clattering on the back of my bike) flew by her only to discover when I tried to come to an abrupt stop that I had no brakes! We debated the pros and cons of our safety and undeterred we decided to continue on…

Surprisingly I did pretty well without brakes. I just had to be very careful of approaching intersections, kids, and other pedestrians. Occasionally there was a bike path but those often ended abruptly into traffic so I had to be on guard there, too. We rode quite a bit but Rachel’s concern over my safety got the best of her and she insisted we find a bike repair shop. Of course, like everything here, if you miss your window of time it may be a couple of hours until the shop opens. After the usual 2 hour wait, missing our siesta time, we returned to the bike shop where we had previously gone to price new bikes. They of course thought we were nuts to want to pay to have a “city bike” fixed. We acknowledged our insanity but we knew by then that of three kiosks we checked that there were slim pickings and assumed the university area would have been worse). “3 days to repair” was the only reason we caved and continued on…

Another of Rachel’s brilliant ideas was to purchase another fan while we had the bikes. Hmm…seemed like a good idea-what with our baskets and all- until we actually bought one. Rachel who can be extremely stubborn and a big know-it-all decided that she would carry the large fan (it was NOT in a box mind you) in her windshield/basket. She no sooner tried getting on her bike when the bike tipped and the fan crashed to the ground. Fortunately she didn’t fall (she with the new hip who thinks she’s invincible) but after a few choice words, looked aghast at the various pieces of the fan strewn around her. I so wish I had had the camera with me! I was on the other side of the street laughing so hard because I could see that she was fine. Again, not to be deterred and seeing how much easier it is for each of us to carry a fan in pieces, we continued home where Rachel successfully reassembled our newest (and very functional!) addition. Mamma mia!

Saturday Market

July 5, 2008 Last night I told Kim that I was going to set the alarm clock so that we would get up in time to make it to Saturday Market. It's a big day and begins early (for us). So, the alarm was set for 8AM and we made it out (after coffee and me moaning about all my mosquito bites)by around 10 AM.

Everyone is out; the streets are crowded and the activity and anticipation of shopping becomes easily infectious. Everyone is carrying multiple bags overflowing with treasures of vegetables, cheeses, bread, meats, t.p. Actually the list is endless.

I so have to contain myself and Kim is such a good sport as she accompanies me. It should be noted that in the US, I will not go grocery shopping with Kim; she whines too much and always wants to leave. Here in Italy (a bit different ambiance?) she accompanies gladly and rarely makes a comment about is it time to go...

In our three weeks here, we have returned to some of the same stalls and the vendors recognize us. Our cheese/prosciutto vendor knows that I point a lot and when it comes to determining the amount, I count out the number of swipes on the cutting machine. So, it's uno, due, tre, quatro....his wife smiles behind his back b/c he does act just a tiny bit grumpy. I know I will eventually win him over.

Our vegetable vendor is an Asian woman and her husband; she is always very nice to me. When we walk away from her stand we have a bag full of veggies that's always under 3 Euro (around $5.00).

We go to various other places, a fish market; this week's treat are salmon steaks. They have huge fish cut up with other creatures of the sea that we cannot identify. Always there is a huge swordfish being systematically carved away; Kim says we are not allowed to buy it because of mercury content. We stop by a fresh pasta parlor and Kim chooses spinach gnocchi. AND, of course, the bread; we have our favorite Sicilian bakery but at the market, we'll explore a new bakery and choose a loaf from there.

Then it was a trip to the Euro store where we bought a damp mop, scissors, and for Kim, hangers (she's just a bit obsessed with hangers but that's another story...). We ended at the local Farmacia (pharmacy) which are on almost every corner. About 3 days ago, I began getting bitten to total death each night by what we are assuming are mosquitoes. Kim has zero, last night I received around 18 new ones... I just knew this was going to happen so I am t r y i n g to take it in stride. We purchased 2 aerosol containers of some type of repellent (I wanted DEET and our helper said, "oh, no....")and a topical cream. Yes, I do know that this is more information than you'd ever care to have but blogging comes from a different part of the brain and so, there you have it. I let our pharmacist know that we are here for a year and she and her assistant both smiled as she replied, "then we are now your pharmacy so please come back to see us". We certainly will.

Picture Demands

July 5, 2008 OKAY, OKAY! We hear you. So, due to popular demand, we will set aside time in today's posting to show you some pictures. And what has received the greatest request?? The fan(s). I should add that we now have two and are in the lap of luxury.

The black fan, on the bed was our first purchase and will always be a little extra special. The second fan has different qualities; it's bigger, pushes more air and resides in our living/dining room and kitchen area. We do love them both.

Happy Birthday USA and please forgive this sinner

July 4, 2008

On this day of our great country’s birthday I must confess. Just a few days ago I had decided that my new land of 3 weeks needed a winner. I thought that if I could help my new country in any way, I would. When do you ever get to see Italians on the podium accepting the Gold? Rarely, if ever. Certainly not in the Summer Olympics, maybe in the winter for skiing. So in a gesture of magnanimity, I said I will become Italian so they could stand tall, too. Their goal of the Gold depended on me.

But over the last few days, I began to have serious doubts. Little Uzbekistan was making a comeback and I was having pangs of guilt. The Italians always chose the wrong side, didn’t they? In my limited knowledge of Italian history (which consists of World War ll and…well that’s about it) I believe they are always wrong while the USA is always right-give or take a few wars and coups in the last half of the 20th century. So what was I thinking? Aligning myself with not only losers, but political scoundrels as well. When little Uzbekistan, on 4th of July eve no less, took over Italy in both Cribbage and in Hollywood I knew that I needed to ask for forgiveness. While Rachel was at church meditating on her father, I was there begging for John Hancock’s and those other old white guys’ forgiveness and acknowledgement of the sacrifices they made in order for the USA to be number 1 in everything. And I had thrown it all away in a gesture of Catholic martyrdom.

Well as of today I’m back, having been forgiven in a Catholic Church, no less. We know the good old USA takes in the tired, the wretched, the poor (just not those damn folks south of the border but hey) and now Jesus, too has given his OK. So I am humbled and grateful for a second chance. I will not let my people down again. Today is a new day, let the games begin.

Ahhhh, help me! I am travelling/living with her 24/7; she’s gone off her rocker! Too much Italian sun…..

Cribbage: 12-11 Hollywood: 24-22 Uzbekistan ahead in both! (But not for long).

Happy Birthday, Dad

July 3, 2008

Today is my father’s birthday; he would have been 85 years old. Since arriving in Italy I have thought a lot about my parents—their lives, our relationship, what they would think of this journey.

My father was very much a self made man. He was orphaned at a young age and grew up in California being cared for by aunts and uncles. He knew the hard labor of the asparagus fields and when he had an opportunity to join the navy to serve in WWII, he did. While in the Navy, he showed strength in the field of electronics and was trained as an electronics technician. I know very little about his time in the Navy; he like many vets would not speak of his experiences. I know that he saw many friends die and that he probably had very painful memories from his losses.

After the Navy, he married my mom and they went to Los Alamos, New Mexico where he stayed for the rest of his life. He got a job with the Los Alamos National Laboratory and remained in his same division for the entire length of his career. While at the labs, he served at Bikini Atoll, was at Jack Ass Flats in Nevada and did “testing” at his work site. All of those experiences exposed him to radiation and who knows what else. Because of his exposure, our family qualified for a settlement through the Department of Labor.

Growing up, dad supplemented the family income by doing television repair work. In those days there were tubes in the televisions and I used to be fascinated by the assortment of tubes that were in his carrying case. He would go to people’s homes to do the repairs but also had a basement work room (which I also found totally fascinating). Now, I have to add that this basement office/work place wasn’t originally a part of our house. He dug it out from under the foundation with a shovel and pick. I have memories of watching him and certainly didn’t understand the implications of such an enormous project. But that was my dad; he could fix just about anything and did. People often came to him seeking his help and advice about one project or another. I used to watch him make repairs on the car and still regret to this day that he wouldn’t really teach me about what he was doing—it was a role thing. I do think that he also grew into the same regret when he saw me as an adult attempting to tune my own car, do electrical work around the house and whatever project. I would call him and double check that the “red wire goes…”? There are many parts of me that make up my father’s influences and I often hear myself saying, “I am the daughter of an engineer”.

Our relationship over the years took many twists and turns. For many years we fought and argued; ours was a family of frustration and discord. My parent’s relationship was a mixture of loving one another, trying to raise seven children, losing two children, trying to convince one another of their point of view. One time during an argument I let my father know that if he and mom weren’t arguing, they weren’t speaking.

Once I hit my 40’s and had my own experiences with parenting, I began to view my parents in a totally different light. I began to see that my father did the best he could given the life skills he’d acquired. He’d been traumatized since an early age and ALWAYS had to pull his own weight. I consciously decided that I didn’t want to be angry anymore AND I didn’t want to have any regrets toward him in my future. So, I began to “chill” and he met me more than half way. I also was better able to view each of my parent’s points of view and got to a point where I didn’t want to judge either of them. Life is a challenge at best and being a daughter doesn’t qualify me to judge too harshly. He never laid a hand on me, he always told me that he loved me; I always felt supported by both of my parents in their own way.

In January 2000, he was diagnosed with kidney and lung cancer. (Five years earlier he’d had and been treated for colon cancer). Five months later, he died. During those five months my sisters' and I rallied to provide care; he died in a hospital in Santa Fe during the fire evacuation from the Cerro Grande Forest Fire.
So today at 6PM while the Alessandria church bells were ringing, Kim and I stopped by a church and I lit a candle and thought of him. He would laugh about the “candles” now. You drop a coin into the offering box and poof, an electrical candle lights up. (He could easily have wired the new candle set up). I think that he would have approved of my Italian journey; he would have shaken his head at first but in time he’d been on board.

So here’s to my father, Manuel (Manny) B. Diaz. Happy birthday and thanks for giving me life and for making this sojourn possible. I am lucky and proud to be the daughter of an engineer.