Forever Young

                        May God bless and keep you always.

                        May your wishes all come true.

                        May you always do for others.

                        And let others do for you.

                        May you build a ladder to the stars.

                        And climb on every rung.

                        And may you stay...forever young

                                                Bob Dylan. 1974

 Thanksgiving Day. My favorite holiday in the USA. Families get together to celebrate  their good fortune, watch football games till their eyes lose focus and eat a huge meal so they go slowly into a food coma.  What's not to like? What transports me to Paradise though, is that I don't have to cook.  I just show up as a guest and grab a plate.  Life as it was meant to be!

                 

Young kids can entertain themselves with a bucket of marbles

One of my petty concerns for this year's gathering was how we might entertain our granddaughter, Harriet, for hours.  She was going to be the only small child in the group. How on earth could we keep her from being isolated and bored to death? She was nearly two decades younger than anyone else in the house. Would anyone be able to get down on the floor and actually PLAY?  Well, fear not grampa.  The older grandkids put away their cellphones, dug out a trusty box of  Jenga building blocks from the toy closet, spilled the contents all over the floor, and proceeded to create buildings, furniture, balance beams, imaginary machines, and wooden highways on the floor.  After nearly two hours of adventure packed nothingness, it was time to break up the fun so everyone could head home.  This was a great lesson in how to stay young.  I was sort of ashamed of myself for underestimating my grandchildren.  

                                            

                                    Harriet.  So easy to entertain.  Very strong batteries.

In 1974, more than half a century ago, Bob Dylan wrote and recorded the haunting song called Forever Young.  It burned a permanent hole in my psyche. The idea was preposterous.  Why would anyone  want to stay forever young? At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be older, richer, more powerful, more famous, and more experienced.  The last desire on my reptilian brain was to stay forever YOUNG. But as I age, I also have come to look at life with a bit more nuance.  I can hold two competing thoughts in my head at the same time.  It isnt just one thing or the other. 2 things can be true even if they seem opposite on the surface.  And I do want to give Bob Dylan some credit for understanding that you can be "young" in more ways than one.  Yes, your physical body is required to obey the laws of biology.  Sooner or later the physical you just has no option but to follow the calendar. 

                                                     

                                           The reality of the mirror...thanks to Barbara Gooch

But fear not.  There is another you that you can stay young long after your second knee replacement. Staying young in the parallel universe of life, allows a person to be as young as they choose.  

                              

                                                      

              My Italian Time Shifter.       

I clearly remember my "fountain of youth" moment in Italy.  There were 2 bicycles provided with the Airbnb apartment I had rented and one day I finally got up the courage to take one of them into the central old city to meet my friend Sergio for coffee.  At the very least, it would save me time to cover the 2 mile trek into the walled city.  It was just a practical decision.  And since the apartment was located on a quiet side street, it was the perfect training space to get used to being on a bicycle for the first time in half a century.  The second I started pedaling, I was hooked.  Being on 2 wheels is a completely different way of seeing the world.  The world is suddenly coming at you at four times the speed of a normal walk.  You have to think ahead and anticipate what is going on 30 yards in front of you.  There are people on foot who don't know you're behind them and who will just suddenly stop or change direction to look at something or greet others they recognize.  There are other cyclists coming at you or behind you who are in a hurry to get somewhere.  Little kids will just run in front of you because they are oblivious to the danger around them. And outside the protective cocoon of the walled city, there are cars, busses, trucks, motorcycles and pedestrians on the same space you inhabit. But the dopamine rush that takes over when you hop on the bike takes over immediately.  The breeze in your face. The blur of the world around you.  The feeling of rolling on wheels is magical. The dangers dissolve. The years melt away. You've been reborn as a carefree kid again.  Wind in your face. Pedals to the metal. Step aside folks.  I'm coming through!

So, as I look out and survey the landscape of life, I now understand that I can be old and young at the same time.  Life isn't necessarily a zero sum game.  I don't have to BE young to FEEL young.  It's ok to take a nap in the afternoon when my body says that's right thing to do.  But it's also great to hop on my bike and ride out into the Tuscan countryside just for the fun of it.  And it's perfectly acceptable to get on the floor with a bucket of marbles with someone who really enjoys sorting them by size and color.  In fact, this is such an important feature of my life that I've put my best man on it.  He better not mess this up!

That's my story and I'm sticjin to it.

😎

          

                                  

Lucca...And the 3 Ms

             

                         Life is short.  Eat dessert first.

Sometimes I sits and thinks.  Sometimes I just sits.

Usually the time when I sits and thinks is when I wake up at 4:00 in the morning.  That's the time when all those worrisome thoughts about the meaning of life bounce around in my empty skull and won't let me go back to sleep. I usually try to fight the urge to think but I rarely win.  I would have never made a very good monk.  I just can't say my prayers without letting my mind wander all over creation.

My most recent sleep disruptor is a thought that keeps haunting me no matter where I try to hide.  I keep asking myself to try to make some sense of my existence here on planet earth.  I just don't know why I'm here or what my existence means.  I've been on the earth for more than 78 years and I still don't have a good explanation for what I'm doing here.  The obvious stuff is easy of course.  I try to be aware of my environment and enjoy the pleasures of all the gifts that have fallen into my life.  Just look at those glorious young people holding hands under the rainbow.  It doesn't get any better than that.  That's easy to smile about. Good fortune beyond belief.  How can one person get so lucky?  No good answer occurs in my little head.

I've spent the last several years lunging between continents, bouncing from one "REALITY" to another.  One moment I'm mowing the lawn in Foxboro and a day later I'm sipping a cupachino in Lucca.  Now that I've finally decided to take the plunge and apply for an Italian retirement visa, I have to ask myself "Why?"  Why am I doing this?

This isn't just an idle musing.  It's a fundamental question that I MUST answer in filling out my visa application...my stated "Declaration of Intent"to Stay in Italy. The Italian government wants to know what my reasons are for wanting to live there.  I have to answer the question.  It's on the test!

In the spooky moments of silence during periods of inactivity, I think my answers boil down to the 3 Ms...the 3 Ms of Lucca as I like to say.  That is, I seem to see 3 big improvements in these most important components of my life.  They are something like this:

1. Control of my MOODS.

2. Control of my MOUTH.  And

3. Control of my MONEY.

This is going to take a while.  But I need to organize this for me and the Italian government. 🤠 Let's begin.

1.  Control of my moods.   Lucca makes it so easy for me to get a grip on my monkish failures.  I just can't sit in a cell and meditate on the meaning of life.  When I feel myself sliding down a rabbit hole in my apartment in Lucca, I have 2 major mood adjusters.  I have my walking shoes.  And I have my bicycle.  They both work but in slightly different ways.  When I head out on foot, the world is slow and deliberate. Walking allows me to see things and experience the world as most of the people around me are.  People in Lucca rarely walk for "exercise",  especially those who are Luccaise.  They stroll.  They are not out to burn calories.  They are out to socialize.  They are out to connect, with other people or with their surroundings.  No Apple watches to measure time or distance.  It's not a race.  It's a conscious act of seeking pleasure in the company of others.  Lucca does this gloriously.  It's why I fell head over heels in love with the place.  Slow down.  Look at the mountains.  Smell the Jasmine.  Watch the show on the wall. Smile at the kids screaming with delight as they race their chariots.  It never gets old...at least not for me.

     

        No need to rush.  Enjoy the stroll. Live.

My bicycle is option 2 and I often find myself trying to decide if I should hop on my bike and just pedal for the joy of feeling the wind in my face...like I was 12 again.  The bicycle forces me to be much more vigilant.  As the speed increases, so does the possibility of someone suddenly changing lanes or just stopping to admire the view.  You've got to be watching 15-20 feet ahead to make sure you can brake or swerve if necessary.  But the speed is also intoxicating.  Going along on wheels is fun! The bicycle also vastly increases my range of the world that is open to me.  On my bicycle, I can easily get out of the city and into the Tuscan countryside in just a few minutes. Over the centuries, Lucca has built a series of embankments which protect the city from the destructive powers of floods. The embankments are the logical place to also install protected bicycle/pedestrian paths which go on for miles outside of Lucca.

         

       Safe and well maintained bike path outside of               Lucca.

It would be a hefty walk to get to these Tuscan trails but with a bike, I can easily ride for miles without meeting any noisy traffic.  Quite honestly, I don't think I've ever met another American on these trails and even Italians are few and far between.  Usually, it's just me and my bike rolling along the path for miles alongside the river.  It's good for the soul.  It's the monk's life without the prayers.  I was never very good at prayers and I still find being alone can be a downer if I don't fight the voice of the little guy in the basement.  My bicycle is connected to my mood.

So being in Lucca helps me enormously with the 1st big M...my mood

The second M...my MOUTH.  Part of my pre-departure ritual is to do a 2-3 day fast.  This has nothing to do with losing weight, though that's a temporary result of the fasting.  The purpose of fasting prior to traveling is to prepare my body for the shock of traveling for 36 hours with very unpredictable meals and zero sleep.  My body has to learn how to function without the food rush.  Once I arrive in Lucca and can locate a grocery store that is OPEN, I'll be OK.  

    

      The new American reality.  Processed food.

If you are curious about how the United States has changed since the 1950s, search for photos of Americans on the beach 70 years ago.  It's shocking. People are visibly thinner and obviously in better shape.   What changed?  Well, our food supply for one thing.  Mega portions. Processed foods.  Eternal snacks and universal easy access to junk calories makes it impossible to get more than 500 yards from instant gratification.  There are SIX Dunkin Donuts 🍩 stores that I know of (and probably 3 more that I don't!)here in the little town of Foxboro.  Gas stations, convenience stores, mini marts, and even pharmacies are all ready to push diet sodas, chips to make you drink more of the diet sodas, and even sweet treats for "after snacks".  Is this paradise or what?

One of my favorite folks on my walking route around Foxboro(Brandon) told me his tale about getting control over his eating behavior.  It was a true saga of the struggle we all face in the land of the eternal Big Mac.  His own journey started about a year ago and the results are laudatory.  35 pounds lost.  Blood pressure down 20 points.  More energy.  Clothes that are too big around the waist.  Real Results!

What was the secret sauce?  Eating real food.  Staying away from processed toxins. Real protein instead of sugar/salt laced garbage.  This is exactly what happens to me when I arrive in Lucca.  I lose weight. My blood pressure goes down.  I can throw away the drugs.  I can walk anywhere I please.  I can bicycle anytime I feel the need for movement. I have no choice about what kind of food I'm ingesting.  Almost all the food in front of me is local and chemical free.  Snacks are available but even those are relatively non toxic because the European Union has very strict laws about what gets into the food supply.  But more than anything else, Italians demand high quality food and they usually market frequently.  I'm just doing what everyone else around me is doing.  When in Rome...do as the Romans do.  No real thought needed.

Well, now we arrive at M#3.  Control over Money.  This is a bit more complicated than the first 2 Ms.  Control over one's money requires that we understand what we mean by "MONEY".  I'm not really going to get into the weeds here but it's really important to explain that money is not the same as "WEALTH".  Being wealthy has very little to do with any arbitrary amount of money. Really?  Is this going to be on the test?  Yup.  Sure us.  It's important!

This is money.  Wealth is different.

Let me explain the problem here. First of all let me ask you to think about some person in your own experience who you would consider to be truly wealthy. It shouldn't take too long to think of someone you know (or have heard about!) who you would classify as "wealthy".  Now try to explain to someone else WHY that person is so rich.  Big house on Cape Cod...Lamborghini in the driveway. Servants all over the place.  Downtown Abbey as you know it.

Now consider this before you fall asleep on me.  Consider the tale of the financial consultant who tells this story about presenting a financial planning seminar for a group of CEOS.  She tries to answer the same question of the gathered high powered participants in the room.  As you have probably guessed, this is a trick question.  Her answer about the richest person in the room?  Why... it was the woman who stood up in the middle of the seminar and calmly announced that she was leaving...because she needed to go to her DAUGHTER'S DANCE RECITAL!  OMG.

Money isn't wealth.  Wealth is doing what you want...when you want.  Wealth is freedom, not money.  Wealth is having the freedom to choose how you want to live.  Pause for a moment to think of all those CEOs working 90 hour weeks, stressed to the max because of this quarters sales numbers, forced to stand in front of TV cameras to explain why investors should buy his/her company's stock, living the American Dream in full color.  These folks are little more than over priced slaves.  They have more money than they can keep track of.  But they are spiritual papers.

Lucca forces me to look at myself.  Lucca forces me to look in the mirror. Lucca doesn't care what I'm wearing.  Lucca doesn't care about the size of my bank account or the luxury of my apartment.  Lucca just expects me to enjoy what's in front of me. Smell the Jasmine.  Savor the coffee.  Taste the food. Enjoy the moment.  Learn how to live.  BE WEALTHY.  IT'LL BE GOOD FOR YOU.

So those are a brief survey of the 3 Ms.  They are sort of related to my existence in Lucca though not rigidly linked.  What Lucca does provide for me is time and space to reflect on what's important.  I guess that's good enough for now.  And it keeps me satisfied that I don't really need to become a monk after all in order to get closer to heaven.  I'm already very close when I'm  there.

That's  my story. And I'm stickin to it.

       

          

        

     

I'm Leavin on a Jet Plane. Don't know When I'll be Back Again

 I despise leaving.  I really am not good at saying good byes.  I'd much rather say hello.  Life doesn't let you just pick and choose your experiences. Before you can say hello, you have to face up to saying good bye.

This has been a busy, busy trip for me.  Full of chores and requirements.  Opening a new apartment. Opening an Italian bank account.  Completely furnishing a totally empty space right down to the sheets, towels and dishes.  Waiting for the cable guy to connect me to the world. Getting my bicycle fixed so I can move around the city. Playing host to old friends from France for 5 days. Trying to complete all my requirements so I can go back to Boston where I can apply for a retirement visa. Losing my passport at the airport.  Getting locked out of my apartment, AGAIN. It's been hard to keep my focus on what really matters with all the "must do" daily chores.   So I needed to just sit down and record my thoughts before I get totally consumed by traveling and a whole new set of tasks when I land in Boston 4 days from now. I just needed to try to convince myself that somehow, all this "busy work" makes sense.

Mostly, my thoughts boil down to one simple idea...I'm getting older and it's obvious.  Looking in the mirror is proof.  I'm getting older.  I'm much closer to being 95 than 55.  Things that were easy for me 10 years ago are but a distant memory now.  I find it almost impossible to make it through the day without a midday nap.  I can still do things like mowing the lawn or shoveling snow but I often need to take a break halfway through.  I can still walk around the wall in Lucca but I usually find a bench to sit for a few minutes to watch the human parade pass.  

Sitting for a drink with Claude and Veronique

I keep coming back to the same ugly question constantly.  "How much longer can I keep active?"

I'm always comparing my physical and mental abilities to my contemporaries.  Wow!  Look at how much better off I am than so and so.  Well GREAT! But then following right behind the first thought comes the second...Wow...How much longer before I struggle to climb steps?  How much longer can I ride a bicycle?  How much longer will I be able to control my arms and legs to stroll to a cafe for coffee?  How much longer can I keep this going?  According to the insurance companies I'm right on the brink of losing most of that.  Insurance companies get rich on predicting things like that.   They have the numbers.  What do I have to prove them wrong?

My sitting room/kitchen in my new apartment 

Well, I have a valid lease on an apartment in Lucca.  I'm in the midst of applying for a long stay visa.  That should protect me, right? Maybe.  In reality, I wavered many times back on doing this.  I really doubted my safe secure future.  REALLY!  Finally, I just got tired of listening to the debate in my head.  If I was going to do this, I just had to jump in and damn the consequences.  Lots of sane people question my judgment.  I QUESTION MY JUDGMENT!  I had to look at myself honestly and make a decision.  It took me many months.

In the end, I think I  decided that there were facts on my side as well.  I know several "objective" things about my experiences here in Lucca the were real and measurable.  I feel healthier here.  I exercise more here, especially now that my bike is working again.  I eat better food,,,Italy produces nearly ALL it's own food.  I lose weight when I'm  here.  My blood pressure drops  when I'm here.  I walk to the store. I walk for pleasure. I smile at the kids screaming with delight in their little carriages.  I meet new people constantly.  I actually take time to watch the sun set. I guess all that counts for something.  

Simple numbers. Simple food.

So, is there a summary and conclusion?  Not really. Trying to order my thoughts about being here is like herding cats.  It won't ever get very organized.  But at least I'm trying.  I guess that counts for something.  I should get a participation trophy.  In a few days...I'm leaving on a jet plane...don't know when I'll be back again.

That's my story and I'm stickin to it.

Statistically...This Is Impossible

 Maybe you already know that lightening won't strike in exactly the same spot twice.  That's what the science of statistics preaches.  This uses the observation that there is a infinitesimally small chance of a lightning bolt striking exactly the same spot on the planet two times in succession.  The objective numbers just don't allow this.  

Now, having said the obvious, let me explain why I know this is nonsense.  I've just proven the science of statistics to be WRONG.  Oh yeah?  Give me your best shot.  Well, since you insist...

I need to go back in time a few days.  This is impossible but I'll have to rely on my memory as best as I can.  The objective facts are that I boarded a flight from Boston to Barcelona on a new startup budget airline called LEVEL airlines.  It was so obscure that there were 3 different terminals listed for departure from Logan.  Out of desperation, I decided to trust the information printed on my boarding pass which I had already printed out.
Terminal 5. Let's try that. Entering terminal 5 requires you go up the escalator to the departures area.  I hope this works!  As I stepped off the escalator, there were 3 obvious signs for...LEVEL CHECK-IN...2 for economy passengers(not me!) and 1 roped off area for PREMIUM(yup...me).  So I trundle down all the way to the CHECK-IN counter, placed my bag on the conveyer belt, handed my boarding pass to the attendant and she immediately handed me a different boarding pass.  The whole process probably took 90 seconds.  When I examined the boarding pass, I noticed that my seat had been changed.  Oh great!  Budget airline misery.  Oh well.  My mistake.

I wait around because I got lots of time to kill.  Finally I get called to board(first because I'm in the priority section) and I get directed to the left where I have to find my new seat...1 D instead of the original 5C. 

What the???  There must be some mistake.  This wasn't the normal PREMIUM ECONOMY section. This was what other airlines classify as BUSINESS CLASS. Lie flat seats, pillows and blankets folded on each cubby.  Only 4 seats across the cabin.  Water bottles already in the seat pockets.  I know it's a mistake but the seat assignment matched my boarding pass.  So I guess I'll just suffer through the next 8 hours.

     

OK.  I deserve it.

I always tell others that I cannot sleep on a plane. I can't say for sure but I might have actually dozed off for 30 minutes or so after the evening meal service.  Lie flat seats kind of help. This did turn out to be the best flight I've taken in 50 years though.  It was what should be called "travel nirvana" No doubt about that.  So that brings us to Barcelona the next day.  I leave the airplane with a smile on my face as I say goodbye to the wonderful crew. And I walk with everyone else to snake through the passport control area for the border agent to stamp my passport before going to retrieve my bag.  Just pull out my passport case, present my document, and head out to the hotel.  Nothing difficult about that, right? 

WELL...MAYBE.  If I had my passport with me, there would be no problem.  But I suddenly panicked as it was my turn to approach the person in the booth where I was directed.  No doubt about it.  My passport case was NOT THERE.  As I rifled through my carryon bag for the 8th time, the result was still the same.  No passport case!  No passport. No phone card for my phone. No credit cards. And no cash that I was carrying(about $1000.00) to pay for my apartment rent in Lucca.  This simply can't happen. Suddenly I had descended into "travel hell"...you know like the movie comedies.  In order to keep the lines behind me moving the border police person in my assigned line motioned me to approach, and she obviously knew what the problem was.  So she asked me for my boarding pass which, luckily, I did have.  She took a photo of the boarding pass and told to me to wait in a small area of seats off to the side.  I had visions of being a stateless vagrant, sleeping in a Spanish jail till someone could rescue me. This was not my idea of a good start to my trip.  If there is a travel hell, I was in it!  After about 15 minutes, left alone with my darkest thoughts, another police agent came up to and asked me if I was Daniel.  Good sign.  He told me that they found my passport case.  Just wait.  Maybe it will take a bit of time. Oh Allah be praised.  I was headed back to to heaven.  Just a brief stay in Purgatory would make me whole again.

             

Passport, cash, phone card, credit card

   So, after about a 2 hour detention in the waiting area, I started to get nervous that I had been forgotten. So I summoned up the courage to ask the passport control person if anything was happening to liberate me.  She disappeared for a couple minutes and then reappeared, waving my case in hand, gave it to me and asked that I check the contents to make sure everything was there.  Mercifully nothing was missing. Then she proceeded to stamp my passport and she got up from her chair in the booth and personally WALKED WITH ME to the arrivals area of the terminal.  

There is one more twist to the saga.  It is something that I hesitate to say but I still have to tell the rest of the story, no matter how much it offends some of the readers.  This border guard was a stunningly beautiful young lady.  So striking that even her frumpy police fatigues couldn't hide.  Disney likes to weave stories around a damsel in distress being saved by a charming prince.  This was a fun twist on the traditional fairy tale.  I was a downtrodden old man being rescued by a beautiful border guard! What are the chances, really.  Statistically speaking, close to zero.

I suppose this kind of thing can happen to lots of people.  It probably does.  But for me, lightening keeps hitting me in my passport case.  The first "incident" struck me when I was but a young lad of 20 and attending orientation sessions before going on the biggest adventure of my life to do my Junior Year Abroad for my 3rd year of college.  It was day 3 of my trip prep in New York city before I was to board a student ship for Europe.  I headed back to my hotel and headed for the cafeteria to get something to eat.  For some reason, I decided to check that I had everything for my trip the next day and ,of course, I DIDN'T.  I was missing my entire life savings, my passport, my world health card with my vaccination records, and of course my ticket for the crossing to Europe.  What are the chances? With me fairly high, I've learned.  Oh well, I could get to like a hotel room in New York for a few weeks, if needed.  I was so upset, I just had to go out for a walk.  As I passed by the front desk, the clerk on duty stopped me and asked me my name.  Satisfied it was that same guy on the passport photo, he handed me my completely intact passport case...money, passport, vaccination card, and tickets with a smile.  What are the chances of lightening striking me twice?

So much for passports. Now let's advance 3 days to the recurring apartment key drama.  Last year, I managed to lock myself out of my apartment without my wallet, cellphone, identity card or any contact information for the owner.  Wonderful move!  I was hopelessly by myself.  My friend Sergio can only be contacted by phone since his doorbell doesn't work.  But I couldn't call him without my phone.  In desperation I headed to our local coffee shop where I hoped the guy who spoke good English(Gabrielle)might be able to help.  Luckily, he was still at the Cafe Ninci and he wrote a note to the local police at the headquarters nearby, asking if they might be able to track down the owner. 

              

     Gabrielle, my patron saint of locked doors

 Fortunately the young officer on duty took pity on me and spent 40-50 minutes trying to figure out who to contact from the apartment address and the clue that the owner used WhatsApp.

        

The police station where I am now famous.

The police officer somehow managed to retrieve a photo of the owner from social media, showed it to me to verify that it was correct and then called the owner to explain my situation.  She wasn't all that happy to hear about my dilemma but she did agree to come to the apartment to let me in.  And she left specific instructions to put the spare key in the lockbox outside.  Sure, sure.  I'll NEVER be that stupid again.  NEVER.  

Until this year.

Yup.  I did it again.  Locked myself out of the apartment without my phone and with the spare key (securely sitting on the dining room table), instead of in the lockbox where we all AGREED it should be kept. And my only hope of salvation was, as usual, Gabrielle.  He was getting a bit tired of me landing on his doorstep but I really had no one else to turn to.  Once again he wrote a note to the police. Once again, the police were able to track down the owner via WhatsApp, and once again the owner agreed to send someone to let me in.  Just wait a couple hours outside the apartment until someone can get there. 

Gabrielle's note was so classic that I include it here with my loose translation so you can feel everyone's fatigue at dealing with me.  Here goes...

"My name is Daniel, citizen of the USA.  I closed the door of my apartment with the key inside(as well as my cellphone).  Please help me! Address of the apartment Via Del Fosso, #31.

Owner's name: Letizia Pellei-Egisti.

Last year they were successful in locating the owner via WhatsApp.  Excuse Me!

That's the sad story. Deja vu all over again as the great Yogi Berra used to say.  

Happily, there was a successful contact made AGAIN via WhatsApp.  Predictably, the owner wasn't all that happy but she did send an angel of mercy to rescue me once again.  About 2 hours later, yet another fair damsel appeared to unlock the door and immediately went on with other more important work.  And, yes, once again thus young lady was strikingly attractive.  What are the chances?  Statistically speaking...this was impossible.  But in reality, since I didn't have my phone ready to take a photo, you'll just have to take my word for it.  

That's my story...and I'm stickin to it.

Dan

In Case of Emergency...Break Glass

 Hey guys.

As you know, I'm headed out to Lucca on May 1.  As you also know, I have signed a standard 3 year lease for my new apartment.  Before I leave, I thought it would be prudent to write down some important contact information...just so you have some way of reaching me in case of emergency.  The best way that I can suggest is to contact the lawyer that I have been working with for months to get a retirement visa and and to get my apartment details settled.  She (like everyone else in Italy) has an account on WhatsApp.

Her phone # is:  +39 348 863 3725

email:   giulianapatitucci@libero.it

Address. Via Citadella, 24.    Lucca, 55100 Italy.  

When I arrive in early May, I will meet with her to get my Italian health insurance and sign all the paperwork for the utilities that she has set up for the apartment.  I will arrange with her to be my emergency contact, JUST IN CASE.  I'm not expecting any trauma but there are no guarantees.

In addition to the lawyer, the realty agency handling the rental will also be in touch with me monthly because I have to make part of the rent payment in CASH so I will almost surely be in constant contact with them.  My contact there is:

daniela@marcocatelli.it

WhatsApp phone#:  +39 349 248 9850

Mailing Address:  STUDIO AFFITTI DI MARCO CATELLI,  Via Pesciatina #1209, Lucca, 55100 Italy 

At the moment, I don't have any other contacts in Lucca with access to the digital outside world.  

I'm also in the process of assembling all my important legal/medical/financial/digital documents so people can handle important STUFF that will have to be done if I am incapacitated.  I've spent the last few weeks huddled up around my heated space indoors trying to organize how bills are paid, taxes sent out on time and how accounts are accessed.  This is a vast quagmire that I never anticipated, so it's taken me days to organize the bulk of it.  I'm following Bahiya's request that I write all this stuff down and leave a copy of everything in our lockbox.  I hope to have everything finished next week.  

So for now, just understand that I will get this done finally after avoiding it for years.  It's important and it's going to be done before I leave.  

That's my story for now and I'm stickin to it.

Dan