Dreams from Biancavilla

In a countdown of hours, I get to see this little “monello” again!  I’ve reduced my packing to one suitcase and one carry-on, but they’re bulging. I may need to rethink this. I know it means deleting some shoes. I leave with The Son of Martin Handford experience unfinished. But I’ve reconciled my losses and restocked/replaced most of what I can’t find, making this autumn’s return less stressful albeit my wallet a bit thin. This is life, and I realize I’m fortunate to have only such problems. We got a joyous primer for our return to Ettore. At our house, the front doorbell ding-dongs, the back doorbell dings once. It is with pure elation that we hear a one-ding ring, because it means the kids across the alley are at our back door! Three of them had been to Portugal on a family trip for a month, so we hadn’t yet seen them here. The other two, we briefly saw from their car, and one of them was here. Oh, how my heart filled at the sight of them! We had a nice long catch up. Then the 4-year

Mom made it through surgery just fine, but the after care is another story. It’s hard. It’s 1000% hardest on Mom. She’s “plucky”—coming through it all at the top of her class, but she (as would I) became disheartened with a half-shaved head and a big ol’ shunt sticking out. It will look better once the hair grows back, but I’ll admit, it’s a shocker. She is not at the top of her class, however, where good post-surgical behavior is concerned. Luckily, I had been with a toddler for months and had some boot camp behind me. The toddler is easier. I didn’t sleep nights (or days, for that matter), listening for sounds from her bedroom or of things thumping because she was “trying to be independent”. The circa 1979 waterbed also did not help. Nor did the food battles; her medical team stressed the importance of protein, especially in these critical post brain surgery days. I all but did the “Here’s an airplane! Open the hangar door!” She just wanted a salad. Or sweets. Then there was the goin