Home Alone with The Landlady

Taormina: Monday, March 14

Today I stayed behind while my three villa-mates went off to Catania to explore the town (which, fyi, produces more annual trash per capita than any other city in Italy) and to eventually pick up Lisa at the airport. We agreed that we would go out to dinner together later in Giardino Naxos. It was sweet hanging around on my own; I had coffee, some bread with jam, ran some clothes through the washer, read my book…
The day was sunny and hazy, not all that warm, but not windy, so I was happy. I watched the light change on Isola Bella and the blue and silky sea. At lunchtime, the usual delicious smells wafted up from the dark well in the kitchen, compliments of the landlady. Since I was simply noshing until dinner, I closed the doors to the kitchen and tried to ignore the aromas. Later, as I re-entered the kitchen, I jumped at the sound of a giant sneeze emmanating from below. Right below. Oh, well, I thought, she can’t help where she has to sneeze.
Mid-afternoon, I relaxed reading on my bed, ground-floor, my window on the "garden" open wide. The landlady suddenly appeared, right at the window, headed---where? I greeted her, she greeted me, through the bars. "Tutto bene?" "Si, va bene." She disappeared around a corner. I shut the window, drew the curtain and took a deep nap.
Late afternoon, rising refreshed, I headed upstairs with my book to hang on the big upper deck, where the view was wider and the traffic sounds a bit fainter. Eased into a set-up near one of the bedroom windows, where the sill acted as a shelf for my glass, I cracked open my book. There was a repetative, soft whistling sound, at first kind of sweet, then a bit annoying; I decided it was a bird somewhere near-by, probably in a cage, a cockatoo.
The plot of my book thickened and I was deeply drawn in, although dimly I heard someone calling out faintly---something. Hmmm, the bird has a repetoire. Suddenly, the landlady burst out the door onto the terrace. I jumped big this time, and actually screamed a bit. She had entered the place and come up the stairs without my hearing her, or giving my permission. Dashing into Cheryl’s front bedroom, she began rummaging around in a cupboard filled with papers, files, clutter---muttering to herself. I sat on the bed watching. Whatever she wanted wasn’t there; she moved to the locked glass door that Cheryl and I had previously peeked through to see an enormous amount of crammed stuff. Opening it, the landlady poked around and poked around, finally finding "it," which looked like a remote control with a cord and plug. She started down the stairs to the first floor; I asked her to lock the outside door on her way out. "No, no," she said. She had come up the spiral staircase in the kitchen, from her dark well below. Comforting to know that, in addition to aromas, sneezes, conversations, the woman herself could blast up anytime from below.
The Greeters returned with Lisa, who was exceptionally perky. We all caught up in the kitchen, with the background whistling of the landlady’s birdy. Lisa thanked Shannon for getting the gig together so that all she had to do was leave a contact phone number and get on an airplane. We all concurred, happily.
Later, we all (five) piled into the roomy Alfa and headed out for dinner. After weeks of research, recommendations and lists, we wound up dining at a seaside place in Giardino Naxos mainly because we found a parking spot out front. The food was great, fresh and reasonable; I made a fool of myself over a heaping plate of risotto di mare, which was the best I ever tasted, a phrase that has nearly become out mantra this week. Someone else may Out me about my personal take-away philosophy involving heavy-duty zip-locks. But I stand by my philosophy, ‘til death or the return of the lira.