Is it just us?

“Is it just us?”

Such simplicity in a question, and yet such resignation at the same time.

Aside from the standard quota of things not going according to plan, it seems that we court “irregularity”, should we say, with what is becoming a particularly annoying regularity.

Case(s) in point –

Our (foolish) plans to make living arrangements according to our building contract – which had us in our house by July 1^st – had me once again toiling in the heat of an unusually hot July, preparing for a move. The memories of last year’s brutal experience (recounted here) came flooding back in equal measures of sweat as I moved things from one place to another, frequently up stairs and down steep driveways, with my wife and son enjoying the coolness of Germany (just as they were a year ago), and without North Carolina’s air conditioning and close proximity of household goods and container.

Maria and Julius returned to participate in one last sweat-filled heave as we moved out of the rental home and into our temporary digs at an old farmhouse down the road.

It was a log, tiring, baking hot day, which started with a knock at the door first thing, around 7:30am – the carpenter who had given up his Saturday and Sunday to lay our wooden floors was the bearer of bad news. It seems the “first grade” oak boards that I’d made 4 trips to the other side of Amandola for – a 50-minute drive each way – were no better than fifth grade, with different widths, missing tongues and grooves, knots, and rough surfaces. The black plastic covering had done a good job of hiding their quality.

So a snap decision was required – continue as best we could with the stack of planks we had, or try and recoup our costs and get the wood elsewhere. The latter prevailed, leaving Claudia and Paolo the builder with an unenviable task of approaching the sawmill guy on Monday. This is the same very crusty fellow, a particularly unembellished man, who had brusquely and unashamedly breathed a frustrated “O Dio!” into the phone as I struggled to understand his rat-a-tat explanation of something or other a week ago.

So the floor upstairs remains unlaid, and chances are it won’t be before we leave for our six-week South African trip on July 31^st. I had planned, on the basis of a finished floor by today, to store several items in the house (the doors and windows supposedly arrive today) while we’re gone. Another plan of folly, based on an anticipation of things going according to plan. I’m either a slow learner or a fool after all.

Talking of July 31^st, a chance requirement to furnish Maria’s passport details revealed a concerning fact – her passport expires on September 2^nd, prior to our return from South Africa. Another hitch – the need for a new passport in 10 days. The Germans in Germany said no, you have to renew it where you live. Turns out the closest embassy or consulate in whose jurisdiction we fall is Rome, a good 3 hours away. Maria would have to go there in person to be issued a temporary passport to tide her through the South African trip, but with her boss calling her in Germany to confirm her return to work, her ability to go there is “uncertain”, at best.

Needless to say, Maria’s return from Germany uncovered all sorts of problems at the house, in spite of my daily attention to it and its intrusion on my working time (along with preparing for the move). Now it should be stated that these are all problems that are patently clear to her, but not to me or the builder. It is just as needless to point out where the fault lies ...

It is all so tiring. Last night I lay awake in the heat thinking how it should have been right at this point – me lying in my organic bed in my own home with everything inside it, comfortably ensconced and with no other pressure than to prepare for a 6-week trip home to see my family, something that could be easily accomplished a little bit each day.

The ponderance of why it isn’t like this is the ultimate stimulus for the question which opened this blog entry. Unfortunately the “test of character” and “test of our true desire to be here” answers are a little worn at this stage. So I’m convinced it is actually us – we harbour some sort of magnet in our bodies that draws us as inevitably to the bump in the road as a dog is drawn to a lamppost.

Having said that, I have heard tell of people whose eyes have completely lost the bright enthusiasm that they once had at the start of the renovation of a home, the beginning of a dream as it were, and are reduced to a “whatever” attitude to every question their contractor asks. For them, the trials of it all have defeated them, the luster is gone, and it will be a long time before the spark returns.

I’m happy to say I’m still a long way from there yet – every time I go down to our metamorphosising house, I can see myself comfortable in its cool walls during the summer, savouring its warmth in the winter, and feeling utterly and simply “at home”.

Yes, the dream’s still alive. It’s just taking a long time to get to the good part.

This, of course, is the good news.

What remains ahead is a network of roads littered – just as it’s always been – with as wide and numerous an assortment of bumps as there are opportunities …