Swim Class for Mermaids

I’m sitting at a café in what feels like the ghost town of Niello Belbo, waiting for the mechanic to switch the car tires from snow to normal. This is a dream compared to watching Isabelle have a tantrum at home (where I left Clay and Azalia).  Two old men are sitting at the table behind me speaking in Piemontese. At least I think it’s Piemontese. It does sound vaguely French, but with a hint of German and some waves of Italian.  I recognize about every fourth word as Italian or Italian related so I assume it’s Piemontese. I’m having a hard enough time learning Italian.  Everyone I have seen so far (all of five people) is a man over the age of 65.  They may be ten years younger for all I know, but people age quickly here. Farming is hard work and the weather takes it’s toll.  This is a far cry from the areas in Paris I used to frequent, where the culture dictates that women care for their health, skin and body.  Here, people are weathered from working outside in the sun, snow and wind. 

The men eye me cautiously as if I am truly a foreign specimen. Sitting here with my laptop, among shuttered up houses, I suppose I do look quite out of place.  But since my alternative was plunking down in the driveway of the mechanic shop, situated under a closed up pizzeria, I preferred to seek out a café, or at least a bench.

Spring has sprung and the wildflowers are popping up everywhere. I have flower envy and can’t wait to get to the local agricultural center to pick up the geraniums I ordered.  I’m used to hopping over to the garden store in Mill Valley and picking up whatever I want to plant.  Here, things come and go each day.  If you want a certain plant, or flowers, or fruit you had better pre-order or be there on the day of delivery.  I found out the hard way when I showed up last year too late in the season to fill our empty flower parts.  Geraniums were gone. Everywhere. Sold out and no more to come till the next year.  This is truly a “buy what’s in season” locality. 

This morning Azalia was in school for a whole 4 hours today because they started swimming.

First of all I can't believe she agreed to/ wanted to go.  Isabelle started last week and once Azalia heard about it she was so excited.  Although she is also torn, because she is convinced that she will turn into a mermaid at 16, and doesn’t want to risk sprouting a tail early.   Today is a huge contrast to yesterday morning during which Isabelle woke up in a foul mood and continued to tantrum hysterically right up to school.

Today they both bounded out of bed happily, put their swimsuits on under the clothes and headed to school with smiles.  Honestly, I sometimes feel like I live with Jekyll and Hyde.  I never know which one I will wake up with!

Clay watched as Azalia’s entire nursery school (ages 3-5) boarded the bus (there is one bus in town , driven by the father of Azalia’s best friend.  I suppose that should be comforting for Azalia for her first bus school excursion! The other week, Isabelle's swimming was cancelled because another local group needed to use the one and only bus.

I can't believe my little baby went off on a field trip! On a bus! To swim class.  She has never wanted to get into a pool unless Clay or me or a grandma was in there with her. I also can't believe the teachers actually do this (my idea if a nightmare - taking 17 preschoolers on a bus to a pool, have to deal with swim suits and toileting and whatever other issues are bound to come up).

Either Azalia is having a wonderful time or is freaking out that she is going to sprout a tail.