In 1999 we moved to Italy. It was like a dream. The area was far more beautiful than I ever imagined. My husband had found us a small house at the base of the Dolomiti, the Italian Alps. I stood at the window staring at the peaks that seems to soar out of the fields behind the house. I learned the rules of the road, how to order off a menu, and to shop at the Tuesday market. I discovered what cheese is really supposed to taste like.
Our Italian neighbors were more than wonderful. They included us in family dinners and took us to their home in a tiny village clinging to the side of the mountains for New Years. We drank and ate away our fears over Y2K and the world surivived. I thrived.
Work was a pressure cooker for both us of. Everything in Europe was different. We traveled in the local area and I marveled that this beautiful country was a birthright for the Italians. Our time was not without heartache. We had to have our beloved dog put to sleep after struggling with the Italian veterinarian system to stop his cluster seizures. My husband and I wept together and huddled against the knowledge we had chosen to end his life. It made us draw closer.
We traveled to Germany, France, Rome, and Egypt. It was like living a dream. The best four years of my life...oh, I still kept an eye on my husband. He still behaved inappropriately towards women, often touching them and getting far too familiar. We argued when I brought it up after all, the other guys did these things too. But the other guys were single and their touching sent overt sexual signals. Is this what my husband meant to do? I told myself that he simply was blind to what his actions meant.
People loved my husband. He made friends quickly but very, very few male friends. Still, I never suspected him of anything inappropriate. I was largely the happiest I had ever been in my life. One issue bothered me. My husband set his computer up in the basement of our house and surrounded it like a castle with bookcases. When I entered the basement I could not see what he was doing. I was relatively sure he was not surfing porn becuase Italian porn laws are very strict, but what was up with this bunker mentality? Well, men have to have a man-cave don't they? My husband purchased our first laptop so I could get online without having to go downstairs. It was very cool. I put any concerns out of my mind.
We tried everything to remain overseas but in 2003 the assignment system caught up with us and we returned to the states.
Our time in Italy helped us save some money and along with the money from the sale of our last home, we were able to buy what for me was my dream home. I hated the city we lived in but I loved my house. I filled it with all the things I had collected over the years. We brought our beautiful and unique Italian dog who joined us before we moved and he made the house his. I hated my new job at in a staff position but I loved being surrounded by my personal things. The dresser from my Grandfathers house, pictures of my and my husband's families, dishes, paintings we bought on travels, and all the things that spoke to who we were.
My husband picked a back bedroom for his office and the bunker was set up again. The computer was surrounded by bookcases and I surfed the brand new wireless laptop downstairs.
