1000 Querce News

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Phone Call

Phone conversation with my niece AA:

“Ciao AA. What did your boyfriend T give you for S. Valentine’s?” I asked her.
“Hmmmm nothing”
“Do you want to know what Uncle Doc gave me for S. Valentine?”
“Yes, of course”
“All right. Let’s play our Gimme-a-hint game. Do you think he bought me a trip to the Hawaii for a week?”
“Hmmmm no”
“Correct.  He didn’t. Do you think he gave me a bunch of red roses?”
“No”
“Eh, you’re right once more. He gave me a bunch of roses, but the next day. Do you think he gave me a pair of running shoes?”
“YESSSSSSS” and then she started laughing and turned around and told everybody in the room (my parents and my sister) about my S. Valentine’s gift.

No doubt that AA knows her aunt doesn’t like to workout (or better, to sweat), and she also knows her uncle with whom she loves to go shopping or what she calls “the special shopping” that is spend a few hours at Decathlon to watch and browse—and eventually purchase—a sport-related tool.

PS : Comment of my sister when I showed her the shoes via Skype “Are you sure he didn’t get them for his lover?” I believe he didn’t my dear sister. He bought those shoes for me so that I can feel that “sore pain in all the muscles of [my] body after a serious work out…”

San Valentine’s Day

Doc doesn’t like San Valentine’s day. For him, every day is a Valentine’s day BUT Feb 14th, and he loves giving me unexpected presents, big or small, throughout the year.

So, knowing him for so long, I don’t expect a present on Valentine’s day. However, this year, Doc decided to buy me a present probably because he felt guilty that I indeed gave him a Valentine’s present (a gift card for a massage that was inserted in the envelop shown in the picture above).

Therefore, when he announced he was giving me a gift I started brainstorming: a pair of earrings, or a long weekend in the Hawaii, or two tickets for the Coldplay concert, or a skein of precious, soft, and unusual yarn. Nothing like that… my imagination was far from what Doc has in mind… A pair of RUNNING SHOES!!!!

“Doc, this is not a present for me; it’s a present for you. It’s like if you were to buy a LA PERLA lace underwear set for your lover… like if your dad, who loves deep fried food, were to give a deep fry machine to your mom” I told him with a shocking tone in my voice.
“Don’t worry, you’ll like them” Doc said to me.
“Well… Doc.. I appreciate your thought, but… I don’t need running shoes… Remember the 5K run we run two years ago? I almost died… I arrived that I was as red as a chili pepper… My hear was beating so fast that I couldn’t count the beats… I actually would love to dedicate more time to yoga or swimming.”
“You need to train your heart. Your Conconi’s test doesn’t lie: YOU MUST TRAIN!!! You can’t be like that at your age [ok Doc, I am NOT that old…]. You need to do something to think about your future… Yoga is fine but not like an aerobic activity… You must sweat, feel tired, spend calories… you need to feel that sore pain in all the muscles of your body after a serious work out…”

SWEATING… Sore pain… training… just at mentioning those words I tremble… To be honest, a few weeks ago Doc, who did his thesis in Sport Medicine and never stopped working out, performed the Conconi test that showed that my aerobic threshold is at about 185 beats per minute, way too much Doc thinks (just to give an example, his aerobic threshold it at about 160 beats per minute). Therefore, he decided, we need to plan and follow a rigorous “training program” so that my heart can be more efficient.

Taken to a super-fancy store specialized in running where my feet were scrutinized, taped, and analyzed by a computer to show possible defects and therefore decide which the best running shoes are  for my feet (and no, I didn’t really feel like Cinderella), I chose a pair of running shoes that Doc enthusiastically paid and gave me as his San Valentine’s present.

“You–Doc stated at the end of the day–before going to sleep should think about where and how long to go running the next day.”

I couldn’t destroy the high aspiration Doc has about my love (or lack thereof) for running and mention that:
1) when I am to go to sleep, I usually think about what I can create with my fabric and yarn stored in my craft room;
2) this training is cutting in my free time, time that I like to dedicate to my creativity in my craft room;
3) when considering working out, I prefer yoga and swimming but also tennis and skiing–these last two performed in optimal conditions of temperature and humidity;
4) in my next life, I want to marry a couch-potato man who is going to spend a lot of time on the couch in front of a TV eating popcorns, chips, and drinking beer (I am pretty sure that in such case, I’ll be an avid marathon runner…)

Now that I have my new running shoes and the Garmin, another tool that Doc gave me for Xmas 2009 and that he considers ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY for a real runner because it tracks the heart rate, the calories, and the speed, I am ready for my serious training and the feeling of sore muscle pain that will permeate my body at the end of the workout.

A special touch of my running shoes is the color of their sole and laces, which reminds me of the color of Tiffany boxes. I have absolutely no outfit that matches that color; therefore, I think that I’ll charge Doc’s credit card for my next shopping.

Fashion Week

Doc loves to be pampered; he loves to feel comfortable, and whenever he travels between the East and the West Coast of the US, his company pays for a business class fare where he lets the female flight attendant pamper him.

Last week, he went to NYC and as soon as he landed he told me “Did you know this week  it’s fashion week in NYC?”
“No,  I didn’t know it. Interesting… the city will be populated by all sort of good looking girls… Lucky you!” I replied.
“The flight attendant asked me if I am going to NYC for the fashion week” he added with a tone in his voice that sounded like I-am-walking-on-cloud-9-for-such-a-question.
“Well, did you tell her that at your age, the majority of the male models has already stopped modelling and has retired for at least 20 years????” I commented with a satanic twist in my voice…

From the look on his face, Doc didn’t seem to have fully appreciated my comment on his real age that he is trying to forget but I am constantly reminding him whenever he struts around….

OOPS!


Alright, I have to admit it that maybe, perhaps, probably I am wrong… It is possible and very much likely that the  topic that worries Doc, that afflicts his neurons and forces them to work all the time, that torments his sleep, that tortures his thinking, that interferes with his innate peace is not THE TRASH as I previously stated, but THE SECURITY of his mansion.

Even though 1000 Querce is one of the safest towns in the whole US with a population between 100.000 and 499.999 habitants according to Wikipedia, Doc doesn’t feel safe living in a mansion that is open on three sides and most importantly doesn’t lower his awareness level for safety.

Doc is used to reading horrific stories of burglars and criminals entering villas and mansions in Italy and robbing, kidnapping, and doing all sort of criminal activities, he does not understand how something similar doesn’t occur in 1000 Querce where the areas with gangs are not that far away from this quiet town in the Rabbit Valley

“I am shocked that criminals don’t travel in richer areas to trespass private properties” comments Doc looking outside the window.
“Well, perhaps they’re too lazy to drive” I say.
“Or perhaps they know that if caught, they’re beaten enough to make them change their mind the next time they even think about repeating the same mistake” he says with a tone in his voice that sounds like a Marine officer who would establish the death penalty for crimes starting with stealing a bicycle and up.

I actually think that the only time Doc slept with no problems was when our friend I&I came to visit us and slept on the couch in our living room, the first room when entering the front door, and therefore where on the first time to defend our mansion. I am surprised Doc didn’t give them a club and a weapon to defend themselves from probable assaults by criminals that obviously didn’t enter the mansion.

One of favorite’s activities that Doc does almost every Sunday evening is to look for on-line criminal reports of the area where he lives and read them. So far, the only documented “crimes” in 1000 Querce consist of stealing objects from the car; hense, Doc now is very careful at leaving anything in his precious car Pivotta.

However, being a particularly suspicious person (his motto is “Don’t trust anybody, never ever”) every evening Doc goes around the mansion to check that doors and windows are sealed and closed. More than once, when he looked the mansion from the outside, I overheard him saying “I would install an iron grid right here on this window” or “I should install a web cam right there on that corner to monitor the two sides of the house even from far away” or “I should put broken glasses on the top of the wall in the patio.”

In total, there were to instances where Doc feared for the worst. Once was when Doc and I went to the airport to pick up our friend I&I; we left around 1pm and when we came back around 7pm, the door of the garage was wide open. Doc trembled.

“How come the door of the garage is wide opened?” he asked with an alarmed tone of the voice.
“I don’t know. You must have forgotten to close it” I mentioned.
“No way, I closed it” he said with no hesitation.
“Well, perhaps you didn’t pay attention and didn’t push the right key on the remote control, and you didn’t close it” I suggested.

Whatever the reason, as soon as we entered the garage, Doc was in a red-level alarmed stage and so was the male I, both ready to kick the potential criminal who entered the mansion. And while the two males were inspecting the door that connects the garage to the mansion to look for possible signs of burglary, I went around the garage looking for squirrels, rabbits, or skunks that are most likely the only creatures that entered the neat garage we have. Obviously, no criminal, burglar or thief has been found and after a careful inspection, the female I and I could enter the house.

After that experience, Doc doesn’t leave the mansion if the door of the garage has safely closed.

In addition, he is only thinking of creating a Neighborhood Watch Program with the result that probably everybody will know everything of everybody. He is also thinking of becoming a VIPS (Volunteers in Police Service Program) and help police whenever needed. Then, when he will become a US citizen (around May according to his schedule), he would like to apply for Reserve Deputy Sheriff and have more police-related responsibilities without the duty of working full time as a police officer.

I am sure his applications will be accepted and he will be very committed in doing his “job” and keep an eye on the quiet town of 1000 Querce where not too much happens. So, be aware 1000 Querce criminals: if I were you, I would become a saint when Doc takes over in his watching-duty. Compared to Doc, Chuck Norris looks as peaceful as Santa….

An Impossible Task

A few weeks ago, Doc had to face one of his most terrific fears, a nightmare that he couldn’t postpone anymore, a torment worse than the mosquito that flies around you in a hot and humid night in the summer… No, not a ghost, not the mosquito, or a long shopping list from his wife (by the way, I am not the shopper between me and him; but this topic will be the topic of a future posting). The fear/nightmare/torment was the hair cut.

Doc has his FIRST appointment to have his hair cut in 1000 Querce. For Doc, that moment has the taste of fear as if he had in front of him a guillotine ready for his head.

For his look, Doc is an extremely predictable human being. Since he was a little more than a toddler and until he lived in R, a town located outside Torino that he calls “the most beautiful place in the world,” Doc had his hair cut by the same barber, and when he retired, by the barber’s son who was trained by the father and knew Doc, his needs and preferences for hair matters.

Then, at 34 years old, Doc moved to the US, and the pain (aka calvary) started …

At the beginning, he went to some barbers located near the place where we live with the result of cursing like crazy as soon as he was out and able to look himself in the mirror; then, thanks to the Italian mafia-connection in Boston , he found Mario, a barber from Italy that cut hair as Doc wanted it to be. However, to Doc’s disbelief, a few years later Mario’s saloon underwent some internal restructuring and was closed for several months and Doc’s most feared nightmare was back: looking for another barber.

After months of trials and errors with catastrophic results, I sent Doc to my hairdresser Chris, knowing that if he had cut hair’s Doc as he liked, Doc would have become his most faithful customers (indeed, and knowing Doc, that was the way that it ended in spite of his initial skepticism). So, for years, every 3 to 4 weeks, Chris was in charge of Doc’s look making Doc a very happy Doc, who had found  THE perfect barber since his arrival in the US (and departure from his beloved Italian barber).

The love-story lasted about 7 to 8 years, until Doc moved to Philadelphia. To be honest, at the beginning, Doc living in Philadelphia was not a problem because I kept living in Boston for about 1.5 years after he moved, and Doc came to Boston every other weekends and therefore Chris could keep taking care of Doc’s hair. Then, one day in Fall 2006, I stated “I am moving to Philadelphia” and a feared look appeared on Doc’s face (not sure if it was because he had to look for another barber or for having to once again share the house with me…)

Nonetheless, I  move to Philadelphia and for a few months after I moved, Doc and I used to drive to Boston for the weekend and sure enough, these trips were deliberately planned when his hair had to be cut. Then, with no more trips to Boston, he finally has to face his nightmare once again. For several years, the search for THE perfect barber went on and with it some cursing and swearing and bad words (obviously in Italian because they have more flavor). After 3 long years, Doc finally found THE perfect barber 200m from home, but once again, a few months later Doc moved to 100o Querce, in Southern California.

Forgotten the idea of planning weekends in either Boston or Philadelphia, in these past 5 months since the move, Doc has postponed as long as possible the search for THE perfect barber. He also went to Italy and had his hair cut there twice, once upon his arrival and once the day before his departure. Then, after 2 moths from the last cut, Doc started feeling like Cousin Iit and could take it no more: It was time to face reality, to combat his fear, to show courage and have his hair cut.

Upon an accurate search on Google, reading gazillions of reviews, evaluating pros and cons, he found the name of a lady specialized in hair cut for men and made his first appointment. I am positive to state that Doc has found THE perfect “barber” on his first shot. He went to the appointment explaining he wanted his hair cut like him, and she was very good at pleasing Doc’s requests.  I am delighted to report that Doc is a happy, and most importantly I have my groomed Doc back.

Happy Birthday AA


It seems almost impossible, but this little baby is my niece AA and today is celebrating her 9th birthday.

AA (as she liked to call herself) is now in 3rd grade and has even a boyfriend T. I adore this girl, and Doc and I are so proud of being her uncle and aunt (as we are of our other nephews P. and T.). However, AA is the only niece we have, and in these 9 years, Doc and I have been laughing at remembering episodes about AA like these:

In May 2005, AA is 2 years and a half. On a Saturday, we are about to go out and AA is all well dressed with capri pants, a colorful Tshirt, sandals and sunglasses that give her a lovely look. Keen to teach my niece some English words, I look at her and say “AA, you’re so COOL.” Now, for non Italian, COOL sounds like the word “CULO” that means A$$, not a word you want to teach to a toddler… Obviously, she thought I told her “You’re an A$$” and she promptly looked at me and reply “No, you A$$.” My jaw dropped, and it took me a few seconds to recover and explain her the real meaning of COOL.

A few months later, I go home with K. my assistant who does not speak a word of Italian. K. loves children and spends time playing with AA but surely does not understand what AA says or wants her to do. At a certain point AA looks at me and asks “If I speak out loud, will she understand me?”

During the same trip to Italy, I am about to go out with AA and K. Because K. is American, she has different taste in dressing and does not really know that wearing a coat and flip flops to go around Turin in October is a little “unusual.” Nonetheless, she is ready to go out like that. My sister is trying to convince AA to get dressed.
“Go and get your shoes because we need to leave” tells her, but AA doesn’t comply.
“Come on AA, go and put your shoes on” she keeps telling her. Still AA is not convinced.
“GET YOUR SHOOOOEEEES!!! You can’t go out with slippers” bursts my sister with little patient left in her voice.
AA without being intimidated looked at her mom, points her finger to K’s flip flops, and comments “And why is she wearing those?”

About a year ago, AA is doing her math homeworks
5-5=5
“WHHHHAT? 5-5=5????” comments in disbelieve  her grandma looking at the math book “but if you have 5 tomatoes and you eat 5 tomatoes, how many tomatoes do you have?”
AA without hesitation replies “5, in my belly.”
At the young age of 7, AA has discovered the Law of Conservation of Mass

AA is having a conversation with one of her classmates who is a little pain in the butt and tries to get AA jealous of her.
“You know” she tells AA “At my house, I have a doll room where my mom and dad put all the dolls they buy for me. And you, do you have a doll room in your house?”
Promptly AA replies “No, I don’t have a doll room in my house; however, I have a whole bedroom in California”

1000 Querce B&B

On December 24th, the 1000 Querce Bed & Breakfast officially opened. On that day, our first guests I & I arrived from Italy. They stayed with us for about 10 days and left on Jan 2nd.

Lots of work was done in the days and weekends prior to their arrival, because our mansion was still in an advanced state of entropic chaos (particularly my craft room where entropy is still not under control yet); however, Doc and I have been able to fix the mansion and make it reasonably acceptable. The only flaw: the lack of the bed in the guest bedroom; therefore, I & I had to sleep on the couch in the wide but bare living room.

I & I are a lovely young couple. I have been knowing Mr I since he was born, but at times life has other plans, and I lost him when he was about 15 years old to find him a few years ago thanks to Facebook (actually, he found me) older and married with Mrs I. Mr I is a musician, plays the guitar, and composes music for singers and jingle for advertisements; Mrs I is works in IT and obviosly Doc became instantly his admired not only  because Doc has an insane passion for women who understand and can operate computers, but also because Mrs I has seredipitously found a wire that Doc looked for around the mansion without success. When Mrs I timidly suggested “Look in that cabinet,”   Doc was about to laugh out loud but because he is a gentleman and will never do that in front of a woman, he skeptically opened that cabinet and to his amazement found the wire; hence, his devoted admiration for Mrs I grew esponentially.

Our guests loved our mansion still smelling new, and even more the peace of 1000 Querce and the Conejo Valley that Doc would happily trade for 10% of the action he saw in Dubai last December… Yes, Doc has still not adapted to life in the suburbs…

Anyway… in those 10 days with our guests, we celebrated Xmas and the New Year, laughed out loud, spoke an impossible and improbable Italian language, watched low-budget (and questionable) soap operas on YouTube, ate in fancy restaurants, enjoyed the warm weather of Southern California, drove up and down the canyons, visited Los Angeles, Malibu, Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, Santa Barbara, and even made a 3-day trip to San Francisco. Basically, we had 10 days of pure fun.

For Mr I and Mrs I, this was their first trip to the US, and to quote them “almost unforgettable.” Thanks Mr I and Mrs I to have visited us and spent with Doc and I our first Californian Xmas and New Year . We loved having your around; we miss you, and we hope you’ll visit us again soon. However, next time, please leave the flu virus in Italy, otherwise Doc will keep you in quarantine before letting you in the mansion.

I wish you a safe journey back home, and I hope you’ll be greeted as in this lovely video (which I love and still laugh and cry EVERY SINGLE  time I watch it…)

PS: A big THANK YOU to Alison Manning from New England Stamper who granted me permission to use the picture of her beautiful daisy wreath I posted at the beginning of this story. Her web site is full of lovely ideas and cards… check it out!

Rules and Regulations

There is a particular topic that worries Doc, that afflicts his neurons and forces them to work all the time, that torments his sleep, that tortures his thinking, that interferes with his innate peace: THE TRASH

In fact, living in your own house is quite different than living in a condo where you exit your door, walk in the hallway, open the trash room, and throw the trash bag in the trash chute. Oh well, nothing like that when you live in a house and when the city has strict rules on which day to pick up your trash.

Garbage is collected in two different bins, one for recycle trash (indeed, California is one of the states that mostly supports recycling) consisting of plastic, paper, and metal; and the other for non-recyclable trash. Both bins are emptied once a week.

Doc is worried like no other regarding the non-recyclable bin being emptied once a week. Usually, the majority of biological garbage is disposed by the sinkerator, a tool placed in the kitchen sink equipped with sharp and revolving blades that mince and grind all vegetable and fruit waste, and that are then eliminated with running water. However, being Italians, we’re not used to this way of disposing biological garbage, and in addition to that, some waste, such as potatoes and onion skins, can go around the blades, block them and break the sinkerator leading to an expense of at least $400 to replace it. Therefore, we decided not to use it too much but for disposing lemon or orange peels that not only make a good smell, but they’re also supposed to disinfect the sink (and we all know by now how much Doc loves to disinfect…).

Considering that Doc is a human being particularly receptive to perfumes and extremely intolerant of unpleasant smells such as decaying of organic material, the idea to store the trash for about a week before releasing it terrifies him. In addition, the two bins are located in the garage because it’s easier to take them out the night before the scheduled pick-up date.

“Do these two bins need to stay here?” asked Doc as soon he realized where they were located.
“Of course they do. In this way, we can take them out on Tuesday evening” I said
“I don’t like the idea that they pick up the trash only once a week” continued Doc “I don’t like it at all…”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked knowing the answer
“These two bins in the garage!!! Who knows what’s going to happen here in the Summer. Microbes and bacteria will proliferate at a super-speed rate and the garage will be filled with unpleasant smells of rotten food. Perhaps the smell will even go up the stairs and fill the kitchen…”

With such a detailed description of a biological war occurring every Summer, I start imaging a green and smelly jelly material taking over my house.

“See, they could have installed air conditioning in the garage to cool it” added Doc
“Come on Doc, such an idea is not cost-effective. On the other hand, we can consider installing a chest freezer where we could store the trash” I proposed “or, in alternative, we should build or buy a compost bin and put it in our little patio”
“NOOOOOO, we can’t have a compost bin in our patio, are you crazy? My parents have one, and it’s located at the end of the garden because it stinks like crazy” replies a worried Doc “I am worried about other trash, such as meat or fish remains, or worst chicken bones. We can’t dispose them with the sinkerator, and when they decay, they stink and produce an exorbitant amount of disgusting bacteria…”

After about 30 seconds of silence and thinking, Doc made his final and irrevocable verdict “We’re going to eat roasted chicken ONLY on Tuesday for dinner.”

So, in our home in 1000 Querce we have one new rule: roasted chicken can be eaten only the day before the trash is picked up day. As of today, the day dedicated to this dinner is Tuesday evening, but such day can change if Waste Management, the company responsible for disposing our trash, decides to change the day the garbage is taken from our trash bins.

If, for any reason, garbage from animal waste and organic waste in general will be produced in a day different than Tuesdays, such waste will be immediately bagged and sealed and deposited in the gigantic waste bin in a complex not far from our house. Such rule will be followed also when we’re traveling, and we don’t want to leave our waste decaying in the garage for two or more weeks. We only hope that California doesn’t treat people dropping waste in other garbage bins as criminals…

Life with no Limits

There is an Italian singer, Vasco Rossi,  who wrote a very famous song in 1983 titled “Vita Spericolata” that translated sounds like “Life with no limits.”

So, this is the title of today’s posting “Vita Spericolata” that Doc seems to have whenever he flies.

Indeed, for the third time in a few years, Doc was called for an emergency on the aircraft.

The first time occurred on the Air France flight between Paris and Philadelphia, and the emergency consisted in a man who drunk too much on board and got drunk puking and throwing up the impossible. Doc would have gladely thrown him out of the aircraft with no remorse, and most importantly with no parachute.

The second time occurred on the Lufthansa flight between Frankfurt and Philadelphia, and the emergency consisted in an old and blind woman who fainted most likely because she was tired and dehydrated from 24 hours of traveling. Doc laid her down and made her drink some fluids to recover.

The thirst time occurred a few days ago on the Air France flight between Paris and Los Angeles, and most likely this was the scariest emergency of all because it involved a 7-month pregnant woman. This lady, a flight attendant flying in business class with her 3-yr old monster boy, was on her way to LA to meet her husband and father of the little monster. Soon after the departure, when the aircraft was flying over Island or a little further into its flying path, this lady thought that her waters broke and was afraid of delivering right there on the aircraft. At the paging for a physician, Doc replied to the call.

“Where you the only physician on board?” I asked recalling the question that my niece Altea asked Doc the last time he told her about the emergency on the Lufthansa flight.
“Well, actually, a medical student also replied to the call, but he was immediately dismissed” Doc replied.

So, after inspecting the future mom, Doc sanctioned that the waters were not broken (“Perhaps the wet feeling she had was due to urine” he mentioned) and the aircraft could continue toward its final destination (To the quesiton of the commander “Should we land or should we proceed?” Doc with no hesitation declared “Keep going”). Lucky him, because I am not sure what Doc would have done in case the baby had decided to see the world during that trip. I would have paid $ 1M to witness such situation and be there with him.

It’s not hard to imagine that after such impressive performance, Doc became the Italian Idol of the aircraft, and all flight assistants were kind to him and spoiled him with free espresso and chocolate… Obviously, they even had to take his personal information to check that he is indeed a physician and not an impostor, and who knows… perhaps also to know more about him and who he is, because Doc doesn’t wear a wedding band, and he always looks like a young and charming bachelor ^o^

The Gardner, This Criminal

photo by Simon Howden

That Doc is a maniac of security, but still a maniac, is no new news

One morning, after Doc and I moved in the mansion in 1000 Querce, a quiet and lovely town of the Rabbit Valley in Southern California, the sun shines and I am in the kitchen to fix breakfast. At a certain point, I glance a shadow moving outside, and when I look, I noticed a man standing next to the gate entrance by the patio. Knowing Doc’s concerns to live in a house with three sides unprotected and open to thieves, burglars, and criminals, I promptly alert him:

“Doc, Doc” I say loudly “look outside by the patio, there’s a stranger there”
Doc is still half asleep in bed

“I know you’re kidding… let me stay in bed a few more minutes” he replies with a sleepy voice
“i am NOT kidding. Wanna bet a dinner out in the most trendy (and expensive) restaurant in LA???? There IS someone outside our gate by the patio” I add with little hesitation

After so many years, Doc knows that I am incredibly thrifty and reluctant to bet $$$ just for the sake of betting without little chance to win my $$$ back. Therefore, he jumps out of the bed and runs to the window with no hesitation.

“For Pete’s sake, it’s a gardener, and he is cleaning and brooming the common path” Doc comments with a note of sadness for having been thrown out of bed for such a silly reason.

“Are you sure? Are you completely sure???” I reply back “he could be a thief dressed as a gardener. He is also wearing a big hat that prevents you from seeing his face and thus being recognized. Perhaps, he has a camera in his broom, and he is taping the area to understand whether we have a security system and learn how to break in while we’re sleeping like two little angels…”

“Naahhh, he is a normal kind of guy” Doc says ready to go back to bed

“Hey, wait a second… It’s these people who seem so normal that you have to be worried about. Remember the comments of neighbors of a serial killer ‘he was such a nice man… he was so kind and loved taking care of roses in the garden’ and so on…”

After 5 seconds of complete silence, Doc yells from upstairs “STOP IT! DON’T SAY THOSE THINGS THAT YOU FRIGHTEN ME!!! Tomorrow, I am going to ask how to have a gun.”

Mission accomplished–I am soooo evil!!! MUUUUUAAAHHHHHAAAA