Lots of things happen here....too many for me to tell you about in writing. I miss the immediacy of a phone call. So much easier. I see something, I call the appropriate person and we talk about that and every other little thing under the sun. Hang up and repeat.
Now I have to somehow remember those unforgettable moments and then find the time to write them in a way that's entertaining for you and me. Cuz if you think it's tough reading this stuff, you should try writing it.
Like I want to call my dad and tell him my refrigerator sounds like a diesel engine on it's last legs and what can I do to prolong it's life? Can I polish a terrazzo floor without using an orbital sander? And there's this joke about a tuba player I heard...
I want to tell one Michele about all the great shoes, bags and men here (not necessarily in that order) and the other Michelle about the great scooters I saw yesterday. One tiny and ancient Vespa with a Puddy Tat sticker on the front and later that day in the same spot a huge one that still had that new Vespa smell. Both parked in the lane of traffic because the mechanic uses that spot for diagnostics and sometimes as his shop. The really funny part about that is that no one gets outraged by it. They just find a way to drive around them.
I want to tell anyone who'll listen that the little girl who a year ago cried every time I came to babysit and clung to her parents like a leech, the kid who cried for hours sometimes when I watched her, ran and threw herself into my arms two days ago, said a quick "ciao" to her mom and dragged me by the hand to her room to work her new puzzle and play dolls.
I want to tell Reema and Michael about the coffee culture here. How easy their job would be because no one orders anything "skinny" or "soy", no extra shots and no flavors. Nothing "to go" and only one size. OK, they'd have to ask them if they wanted cocoa on their cappuccino. That's about it. Of course they'd have to pack the grounds by hand, no one trusts a machine here, but that's a small price to pay. All that time spent ordering and then making a complicated drink can be spent more usefully in gossip and frivolous conversation, as it was meant to be.
I want to tell Jon that people are finally noticing that I actually understand Italian and often respond in the same language. Dinner with the neighbors is still a stressful event, but I can tell them that now. Not that I would.....
I want to tell Andy that every time I hear Johnny Cash or Leonard Cohen I think of him. This happens more than one might think.
There's probably a hundred more thoughts I've had in the last week that didn't make it here. Mostly because I have no memory. Or I do remember but can't for the life of me think of why I though it would be so darn interesting to anyone. I refuse to become one of those people who talks into a little recorder like their thoughts are precious pearls of wisdom. I could start photographing everything, but I'm afraid of living my life through a viewfinder instead of showing up in person. Sometimes the most interesting stuff happens in our peripheral vision.
Maybe it's just self-absorption on my part, this idea that what I see and think and do is of any interest to anyone besides me. Then again, a blog is just that. A one-sided conversation where I can imagine that you are sitting on the edge of your seat breathlessly reading every word and thinking how lucky you are to know someone like me. So much better than a phone call, where call ID can get in the way of a truly scintillating conversation about MY day.
Interesting. I'm feeling a little better about things. Thanks.