A couple of days ago I suggested that the word for that murky, dank weather was ‘dreek’. I have since been advised by a Scottish correspondent that it might be spelled ‘dreich’. Objection sustained. I stand corrected.
I’ve posted a rather nice shot of the red house taken from rising ground a few hundred yards to the south. If you look very carefully you can see it - and note how it nestles in that curve of the river.
As for the other pictures – of men, plus dog, wrestling with a trailer – well, that has to do with the turkey hunters, who will be driving in from
The trailer has electricity, bottled gas and running water and is very cosy (or cozy: take your pick).
Today I have to go to the post office, a 25-mile round trip. I am sending money to my brother, who lives in
. He has spotted an ‘as new’ top-of-the-range short-wave radio on eBay and is going to mail it out to me. I come from a family of five. Three were born before the (1939-45) War and I grew up not knowing them too well. Next came the ‘victory baby’, born just nine months after my father got back from Kentucky . I was an afterthought. We two sort of grew up together and were both crazy about American TV shows, music, cars, even history. At one time we both wanted to come and live here. He made it, as a preacher, in 1992. I finally lost the urge. I like my life in the north of Italy , and am happy to keep enjoying the western states as a visitor. England
Now, grub or work? Tough call.