Cantinaplex

   OK, I know, it's been a long time since I've written anything; but my excuse is that I've had no descent keyboard. Our two laptops collapsed at the same instant  leaving me a Dell Inspiron mini 10 with the most minuscule keyboard ever sold as a positive asset.  I've got arthritis and I can't work this thing. I'm sorry.
   Furthermore, the Inspiron Mini has been hacked as a HACKINTOSH so I HAVE no Idea how to manage the operating system. ;lwt alone the keyboard, which has all its keys reassigned. When I get the ThinkPad back, I swear I'm going to reboot this thing as a simple Chromebook. I mean, Why?.... What is all this WYSIWYG GUI? Why?
   Off the rant and on to the story.
   And the story is that, as of today, we have doors and windows in the cantina (basement) where we used to have open holes out to the elements. For 10 years. At least that's how long we have lived with open holes. Previous occupants have certainly put up with many thousands of years more than we have, but I don't care. I've put the best years of my life into this goal of doors and windows in the cantina of this wretched Italian farmhouse and it's a big deal for me.
   Now, before you book your holidays, I've got to mention that there is still no GLASS in those doors

mauro buffini, umbrian carpenter with his mahogany doors

and windows. Only wood frames. That's right, just wood frames. One doesn't fit quite right either; but never mind. It's only been ten years. Count 'em. And I'm pretty old already. So when one doesn't fit and there's no glass.... well, what? Who's complaining, right? Before Mauro the carpenter left tonight, I had to take him aside and say: "Ho aspettato dieci anni...TEN YEARS!"
   I have a feeling he will be back tomorrow early with either silicone sealer for the glass, or a straight jacket. Stay tuned.

UPDATE
   The day after I wrote the post above, our carpenter arrived before I delivered coffee to Alex in her bed. I'm forever impressed by the pride Italian workers take in their work. Even if it's terrible. It doesn't matter. If it's crap work, they're as proud as punch. If it's really good, they're still proud. Odd. You can't trust 'em. But then, the coffee I deliver to Alex every morning is, in my opinion, always good. Simply because I've gotten out of bed before she has,
   Anyway, Mauro Buffini drove up and began fiddling around before coffee time. And by the time coffee was delivered, he already had glass in some of the frames.