The Wall Was Crying
My first winter on the Amalfi Coast
My dream was this house. The arch at the end of the hall with a view of the sea. I am yours, it said. Stay. It wanted me as much as I wanted it.
I returned in February for a furniture delivery. My new sofa was expected in a few days, and I was looking forward to sitting on something cozy and comfortable. The entire previous summer I used outdoor terrace furniture in my living room. It wasn’t all that pretty, but functionality and availability made it perfect. I was also set to receive the platform for a large double bed in my bedroom. I’d been sleeping on one of the twin beds I asked to remain with the house and was eager to have more sleeping space. It would never be the king-sized bed I had back home, but here it would be grand.
It was my first experience of winter at my marvelous new home on the Amalfi Coast, and I was curious how it would feel. Cold and damp was the answer. Wind and rain transformed my stunning blue coastline into a desolate gray landscape and inside the house, little was better. Excited to have finally arrived, I unlocked the door. I had to push to make it move.
Swollen with moisture, the old wood door scraped hard across the terracotta floor as it opened. I felt the humidity immediately. I felt it on my face and my clothes. I reached out to slide my hand across the plaster wall. A ritual I started without realizing it from the first time I came into the house. The plaster here feels so different than sheetrock. The slightly irregular texture is surprisingly soft and alive. When I moved my hand across the wall I swore I felt the energy of the person who made it. But that terribly dreary winter day, the wall was crying. When I touched it, my hand came away wet. I almost cried myself as my heart sank and knots formed in my stomach.
Resigned that I couldn’t solve the problem immediately; my brain turned to heat. Heat would definitely help. I felt sure I was given instructions the previous summer when everything was handed over to me. But with temps over 100 degrees, I likely wasn’t focused on the heating. A quick search of my notes and my memory turned up nothing useful. Rolling my eyes, I promised myself I would get better at notetaking.
A hot shower called my name. The ache from twenty-four hours of travel was deep in my bones. Exhaustion had set in hard.
Modern and tall, my shower was enviable here. I looked forward to soaking myself in all the hot water. Sliding back the glass door I turned on the water. Success! Then waited. I gave it ample time to do its thing, but I saw no steam. A tentative touch of the water and I gasped. The water was arctic.
If anyone had been within a three-block area, they would have heard my screaming and yelling. I know how to cuss, and at that moment, I was an Olympic champion. The worst part though, I was still cold and if possible, even more tired. And it was then I noticed plaster buckling under the window in the bathroom. Water was leaking into the wall. Even a kid could see it.
The feeling of overwhelm knocked hard at the door. I couldn’t let it in. So, I sat. I sat on my makeshift furniture and just breathed. No problem solving. Just air. In through my nose, and out through my mouth, slowly on repeat until I felt my body and mind calm down. I mean, people live here, and they solve problems, so I can too.
Wrapping myself in warmer clothes, I needed to inspect everything, inside and out. The sun had fallen behind the mountain, so I grabbed my phone for light. The breaker box looked foreign like everything else, but all the switches were up, so I called that one a win. Next, I entered the mechanical/storage room, which housed my gas tanks, hot water heater, and various gardening supplies left behind by the previous owner.
Dodging spider webs and wet fallen ceiling plaster, more water leaks apparently, I inspected the water heater. It was blinking. I switched it off and on again and it seemed happier. Back inside I looked back at my notes and found something scribbled sideways on a page – Turn on water, then gas, then water heater off and on again. Mio Dio, I would get a hot shower after all. The relief washed over me like the hot water soon would.
And you know what? The next day I solved the heating problem too. I went to the local housewares store and bought a portable heater. We quickly became inseparable. My new best friend followed me everywhere, from room to room, loyal as my precious dogs had been back home.
The rest of the problems I added to my growing list, certain there would be more. A gentle new confidence quietly rose. Maybe I could do this foreign house thing after all.
~
Whatever hard thing is waiting for you — take a deep breath. Then go inspect the mechanical room.
Give it a go! -Cindy
