Disillusionment, Spring 2007

Well, here I am Verona, Italy, wondering what I am doing here, unable to get through to my husband about how I really feel, suddenly unable to keep a bright sunny outlook on this funny dream that is life in Verona.

I don't know how much of the above is depression talking. We are here 21 months, and are facing a major change. After all our endless morning-at-the-kitchen-table-in-New-Jersey planning sessions and what-iffing ourselves to death to uncover all the possibilities that existed, we are laid low by an unexpected glitch...our immediate neighbors. Continuing to live next door to them is becoming insupportable. They are from the South, and seem to be representing that part of the country accurately, according to our northern Italian friends. Politically incorrect? Certainly. Typical of the stereotype that the North has of the South? Definitely.

Our neighbors are loud, argumentative, scream at each other and at their maid at any hour of the day or night, and care absolutely nothing about our privacy. This situation is compounded by a landlord who, though well-meaning (the road to Hell is paved with good intentions), neglected to follow his architect's advice when converting the top two floors of the family palazzo into apartments. The result: highways of sound through the rustic wood beams and wooden floors. We are like two families living in our apartment...the screaming neighbors intrude on us whenever they open their mouths and don't seem to care if they can hear our lives taking place. It is a nightmare.

We may have to leave this beautiful apartment, truly a treasure that our friends...both Italian and stranieri (foreigners like us)...think we were incredibly lucky to find. If this apartment was transplanted to Manhattan, it would be multiple thousands of dollars per month in rent. Here it is an incredible Euro1400. We have 1,900 square feet, a balcony, a beautiful terrace; the location of the palazzo...a building on the Italian historic register, dating from 900, on one of the oldest streets in Verona...with proximity to the Adige River; fifteen minute walk to all the shopping, the philharmonic, the Arena, the Teatro Romano, churches with free concerts. This place is a dream come true for this half-Irish half-Italian girl from California.

We can either adjust to the neighbors or we can return to New Jersey to our house which would involve our adult daughter...who is living in the house and caretaking it (very well) for us...finding a new place for herself way ahead of the schedule we had all originally envisioned.

This dream of moving to Europe, specifically northern Italy, was my lifelong dream. My husband bought into it and graciously made it happen. And now that the dream is under attack, I believe I am being blamed...or I am blaming myself...for having had the temerity in the first place to ever think I could do this. I can hear my Irish mother saying, Watch out what you pray for.

So this is where I am on this day of my first post in my first blog.