Viva Liberazione!

Mussolini's Republic fell 68 years ago today.  What this means for me: Italy's probably less messed up than it could've been (?); work's out, school's out, allowing for sibling war in the morning in addition to afternoon and evening; more hotshot bikers and ladies with designer fanny packs (gold, with matching shoes) than usual on my morning run; decadent lunch at Nonna's, which, somewhere between rich pasta, red wine, and salame dolce al cioccolato (omg yum), made me serenely happy and brimming with love for the whole world, including my little family of weirdos as they shouted about the mafia and the TV remote and whatever else.

Passed a monk on the street this afternoon, his white robes flowing and prayer beads in hand.  My initial reaction: "'sup."  And then, a bit later: wait, were you a monk?  What were you?  Too young to be a bishop.  Probably not the pope, by the same logic.  Oh, priests are a thing, right?  Just gonna call you a monk because I clearly know what a monk is and how Catholicism works.

Ginni just bounced over and asked me if I can do a handstand, to which I had to reply "no" because that was simpler than "I haven't tried in years, but my bum-wrist and questionable balance, both mental and physical, would suggest that it's no longer likely."  I supplemented "no" with "sono vecchia"--I'm old.  Figured that was close enough.  To which she replied that her mom can do a handstand.  To which I replied, inwardly, "blerg."  But I'm doing yoga these days, so...maybe, eventually!  Holy Downward Dog, do I love yoga.


Bologna has its own leaning towers, you know. 

Think I'll go to Florence with V on Saturday.  Our mission: to bring home a boy dog to impregnate Mela.  He'll stay with us for one week--my last week.  A fertile week, with any luck.  For the dog!  For the dog.

Some general questions for reflection as my stay comes to a close: will I efficiently and appropriately spend my remaining cash, or make rash, desperate, and ultimately depressing decisions?  Will all the little holes in my stockings hold it together for ten more days?  Will I ever know why I do things, what I want, what anything means, etc?  How soon upon my arrival in the US will I consume massive quantities of fruit, chocolate, peanut butter, breakfast, and/or whiskey?


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