The process of moving after a five-week stay is more than my usual slapdash ‘get it in the bag, and sort it out when we get home’ strategy. We are repacking for a different airline-the budget one with limited baggage—and a different locational climate— between the coasts of Africa and Sicily. Warmer, right? I didn’t think about temperature when planning, as all I could see was the sparkling harbors and waters around tiny islands, thinking Greek-ish in my mind. We’ll know more tomorrow. So far, I’ve done the dishes, packed two cases and am thinking about a nap before we go to catch a farewell sunset and waterfront walk. I’ll be back, God willing.
The house which I have feelings for remains aloof to me. The day before last, the realtor emailed to offer a visit whenever I come back to Italy. I immediately told her -— but I am here, now, and can see it on the 17th. At this point, they ghosted me, and I’ve not heard another word. This thing isn’t happening at this point, and may never, although…
We’ve left a few things here, as one does with remaining bits and bobs, and it is hard to leave, and easy to leave all at the same time. We have most of our lives at the other end of our trip, all that is important, really important. And there is over here another heart-space. There is some thought, as a friend puts it so well, that it is good to be calm in the not-knowing, comfortable in the lack of clarity. For when I can live in trust and not fear of the unknown, I can live peacefully with myself and others. Nice Dahli Lama thoughts. I hope that I get there soon.
Sunset was meh, and we couldn’t find a Sunday-open shop to buy postcard stamps (they are about $3.00 each – such a deal, but it made our own postal service seem like a real bargain) and we discovered a formerly favorite pizza-bar that had, we thought, gone out of business, but has possibly emerged from the wreckage of economic woes to blossom anew. The new Robertone’s will be a next trip discovery.
You know we’ve been praying — many friends and us — for a young woman who had covid and an unexpectedly terrible case of it while 8 + months pregnant. The baby is okay, although her survival has been uncertain. It appears today that she will live, although months of hospitalization and rehab lie ahead, when she returns to awareness, which we hope will be soon. She’s been sedated, intubated and paralyzed for weeks now, but is waking, and extubated. Thanks for all the prayers, candles, good thoughts.
So a final, or nearly final goodbye to Chiavari. We went to our last supper — at a place recommended by our landlord. It’s a bar during the day and a meaty restaurant at night. We ordered something, and of course, got something else than what we expected, but Barcellaria was wonderful, service was terrific, and Lew’s rib eye a delight to him. The whole time, in the background we heard country-western music straight out of Texas. Broke my mind.
Forward to Malta.