Missing il Poggiolo...

For two weeks this past November, I was 4,701 miles from il Poggiolo standing amongst the lofty pines of North Carolina. That’s a small lie. Actually, I was mostly inside nursing a severe cold sipping chicken noodle soup and watching Netflix. I hardly gave il Poggiolo a conscious thought. My subconscious could not let it go. This a long held tradition or, an annoying habit. Cannot decide. But consistently repeated twice a year: Thanksgiving and Easter. Smacks of separation anxiety. Only to a point…

Darn subconscious. And when a guy is already down to take advantage of my weary state: sleep patterns thrown to the winds by the annihilating whiz-bang-stop of modern air travel and beyond the reach of the latest tech in somniferous medicines. And, let us not forget the added boon of the 6 hour time differential. Fertile territory for nightmares to infiltrate my dreamworld, menacing my vulnerability with all which could befall my beloved Tuscan farm-house, il Poggiolo. The epitome of completing my misery: floods, fires, torrential rains, unwanted guests, unwanted anyone else, taxes upped, gas burners blazing away 24/7, every light left on to dispel the abandoned darkness 24/7 too… and much like the photos, long since DELETED, taken by a polite yet over-zealous AirBnB photographer sent by The Company to eradicate any unruly shadows or nooks of shade, thus rendering il Poggiolo ridiculously devoid of any charm or hey! Colorfulness. FLASHED to Death!!!… to Escher-esque follies of perpetually climbing up & down the house’s many ramps emulating the Myth of Sisyphus… talk about sweating while trying to sleep. Then, they stopped. Just like that. Not that the new dreams were all blue skies and birds tweeting. No, something better:

Future Poggiolo Projects…

new glass-enclosed fireplaces faced in flea-market marble veneers for La Casa Grande’s LR & DR. I can tell you right now the Dogs are going to love this innovation: beds & blankets fireside. Weimaraners love nothing more than to be WARM!!! Double French-doors in the DR too with a balcony and stairs outside to gracefully descend down to the garden for a Summer’s evening aperitivo or, to say Hello! to Dott. Bacchus standing watch over the wisteria vines and hydrangeas. Imagine hands sliding along the wrought iron railings to store firewood easily below. And, stone stairs to the top-most grassy terraces ample enough to deck them with large terracotta vases full of bromeliads and lavender, ooo-wee! Woke myself up with glee and did so until I reversed course for Italy to come back home… to il Poggiolo. And that is the Moral of the Story!

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