Tags

, , , , , ,

It all started with a battery charger.  I noticed that my camera power was getting low and went to get the charger out of the bag.  It wasn’t there.  I was on my way to a concert so I gave a cursory look and decided to do a full on search later.   I was a bit hopeful, but also sure that I put all of the electronic paraphernalia in one zippered bag.  I’m uncertain.

3:45 a.m.

Where will I get one.  Shall I have it sent?  Will I be able to replace it?  Can I buy a battery?  A charger?  Shall I have my nephew bring one when he comes to Positano in hopes that I’ll connect with him?  Can I live without photos?  Can I save enough power to get the prehistoric drawing in Papasidero?

All of this for a battery charger.

It isn’t really that, is it?  It’s a night of questioning.  While everyone here is sleeping I am wondering why I am here.  I can’t remember my purpose and if I get an inkling of that, I can’t for the life of me figure out why it was so important.  So I will know what life is like (somewhat) in Scalea, Italy (for a quasi-tourist wannabe short-term resident)?  Sigh.

I’m frightened.  Although my B & B isn’t a perfect fit for my purpose, it’s place to stay where there are English speaking people at the breakfast table each morning and available for a glass of wine in the evening.  There is a lovely view of the sunset and a bathroom with shiny tile and extra toilet paper.

Will I really like it in the ‘hood?

I went to a concert this last evening.  Well, sort of…  but that’s another story.

There were five women sitting above me.  They were visited and hailed by others passing.  This was the first group of women I have seen who seem to be actual peers of mine.  They were friends.  They were dressed in the same variety of choices and styles that I would see among the Women I Like.  They would be my pipeline into the life here.

They didn’t acknowledge me.  I didn’t speak to them.  After an hour or so, I left.  I felt more lonely that at any time since I have been here.

Moving into a neighborhood won’t really give me a cohort of my peers.  Although I may get to observe what life is like for women my age, I am isolated by custom, language and social access from the very people who could give me insight into what it’s like for active, educated, retired women here in a small village in Italy.

So I’m lying awake wondering if I really want to eat dinners alone, take my walks alone and pursue this craziness.  More than the children and young people, more than the husbands and wives walking together, these women in a group represent what I am missing in order to be here.

I know one thing for certain.  If I want to sleep, I can’t go to bed with uncertainty.  There are enough questions in life without wondering whether I have a charger for my camera.

xxoo

P.S.  Morning at last.  I found the charger.  I had breakfast.

It doesn’t take much to change my attitude: one ancient Italian woman who stopped me to complain about the noise of construction by her house.  She actually waved her arms and said “Mama Mia“.

I’m ready to go again, however, I am posting this so that you know what I’m REALLY like in Italy.