Italian Lessons by Joan L. Arndt

Author:Joan L. Arndt
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781622090204
Publisher: Knepper Press
Published: 2007-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

The hidden brick arch, the half-wall gone and the old kitchen parts

Removal of the wall was another Roger brainstorm, one we had discussed over several days but finally rejected as too difficult. The wall in question is part of the stairwell leading to the cantina. Access to the cantina is achieved by traveling up and down a series of stairs. If we close the stairwell and break through the wall, we gain ready access to the cantina and an opening in which to put a larger refrigerator. With the fridge fitting precisely in this opening, we free valuable space to use for deep, long countertops, a cooktop, oven, sink and dishwasher. No overhead cabinets would be built, leaving open wallspace and a sense of roominess impossible to achieve otherwise. Shelving in the cantina would be used to house canned goods, baking goods, and other foodstuffs that tend to be squirreled away, long past expiration dates, in standard kitchen cabinets. And there would be an added bonus; Roger could convert the closed stairwell into closets, providing sorely needed storage space in a casa colonica that has no built-in closets.

These were indeed big visions. Late one Saturday as Antonio and the masons were wrapping up some sort of demolition, Roger gesticulated his idea. Antonio immediately embraced the concept. His enthusiasm became infectious and everyone started talking at once with Roger calling for simultaneous translation. We’d need a chestnut architrave or lentil because the wall required reinforced support, we needed more antique brick and stone for flooring, to build a step and to cover the exposed wall openings, we needed to increase our tile order to accommodate an expanded kitchen and we needed to place an order for more chestnut ceiling beams to create a uniform look flowing from the soggiorno into the kitchen.

Such unfettered support was all the prompting Roger needed. By Monday the wall was demolished and revised kitchen plans were underway. The search was on for antique bricks. During our driving excursions, Roger’s radar honed in on piles of bricks stacked at crumbling old farmhouses. Since we remained joined at the hip for every outing, he wanted me to ask the owners if we could take their bricks. No one had yet relinquished any from their property but we hit pay dirt at an old building site. Hesitantly, I approached the workmen asking if we could sift through the five-foot pile of rubble. “Certo,” sure. My mother would be mortified to know her only daughter was picking through piles of trash. Still, the yield was significant.

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