BRRRRRReautiful!!!

February 6, 2012...

Last night's temp in Codiponte... and everyone made sure I knew this!!!... was a bone chilling -8C... or, 17 degrees Fahrenheit. Mother Earth is frozen. This is a boon when out with the D-o-g. Where he goes I can too without sinking into A Muddy Mother.
Today's High was 2C. OK. Fine. A few measly degrees above freezing for those who live in Montana, Saskatchewan or Belorussia but, with those Siberian Gales gusting, it was about -4... or, a balmy 25F. Naturally, The Dog points into them, ears flapping happily. Yet, he's always glad to hop into the warmth inside You's AUDI.

I only popped down to Codiponte today... Monday... to make a payment to The Builder, tour il Poggiolo Complex with Our Geometra, check on the Work-guys and flee back to gelida Genoa.

The sky was a brrrrreautiful blue, nearly Our Blue for Phase IVB. Not so blue, however, inside La Casa Grande. Too darn cold to throw fresh stucco on the walls. The gritty grey stuff would only freeze, and then, fall off. So, the Work-guys were installing little plastic teal scattole... or, boxes... which will hold the outlets & switches. I SLAVED for three days to get out the Electrical Plans, specifying the outlets at 20 cm AFF... or, Above the Finished Floor. In our case, it would be Our Terra-cotta. Somehow, in their Work-guy Minds, that had to be 45cm AFF!!! When I inquired as to why the extraordinary height, they said it was because of the baseboard...
Baseboard? What baseboard? 
The one that goes on top of the flooring! 
Who mentioned a baseboard? I didn't. 
We just thought...
The plan says 20 cm AFF. They are at 45!!!
We just thought that because everyone puts in a baseboard...
Gentlemen... we don't!!! Did we do one in La Casetta? 
No.
Then, please, -guys, let's get those little boxes down nearer TO THE GROUND!!!
OK...
Thank you.
Catastrophe averted!!! All it would take would be for You to open his mouth about plugging in a lamp at his belly-button height during An Inspection Tour... TO RUIN MY DAY!!!
Otherwise, work progresses, much like the slowly melting ice-cycles hanging from il Poggiolo's gutters. Gads.