Wearing My Big Girl Panties

I have been able to now count 9 consecutive days in which I woke up feeling well rested and at peace and carry it throughout my day … easily the most since I arrived in Milano. I aim to continue until it is the norm and the days needn’t be tallied any longer. It feels as though it will be soon. The past two days have been terrific and this morning is already starting to look like another Rock Star day.

After my post on Sunday about my language struggles, a funny thing happened on the way to class Monday. I was sitting on the tram when an elderly woman entered and found a rung above her head to hold.

sidenote: It is quite common courtesy here to give up your seat for the aged and/or infirm. I see it happen all the time on the buses and metro and it warms my heart. I’ve also seen hierarchy in play in which one elderly woman gave up her own seat, to be jostled about while standing, to an even older gentleman. It’s quite sweet to be an observer.

Monday I was a participant. The interaction happened quite naturally actually; as I was getting up to offer my seat, with a hand gesture and “prego”, the tram lurched with a start actually tossing the woman right into the spot I vacated. At the very next stop the person next to her exited and I was right back down, now beside the thankful woman. She proceeded to start chatting away and almost spontaneously I started in with the head bobbing. Recognizing a few words I was able to sputter, “si”, “okay”, “si”. Some real conversation nuggets ~ let me tell you. This lasted all of about, oh, 30 seconds. And then a strange thing happened. I decided that I could do better than that. Trying to think on my feet (okay, while sitting on my ass) I noticed the woman was clutching a bag that held a knitting project. I too had a scarf I am working on ~ perfect fodder for some Italian banter. Politely tapping her shoulder, I started in. I can’t quite recall the entire conversation ~ but did you notice ... I just said entire conversation?! There was one ~ for about 7 whole minutes. In that time I explained to her that I am an American with not many Italian words; I like the colors of her yarn; I am knitting a scarf for my daughter in Colorado, “how do you say wool in Italian? Lana? Thank you.”; I am taking Italian classes; I find the prepositions and articles very difficult; Italian, with its feminine and masculine forms is harder than English; I have an easier time remembering adjectives; and, yes, this is my stop too ~ thank you very, very much for talking!

Proceeding to walk to my class my chest was puffed up to about a 40DD. And then I took my seat and commenced with 2 1/2 hours of wide-eyed confusion. It’s okay, that’s why I study. Taking my new confidence to the soccer field with me that evening, I decided it was time to find out what the game is called that the church men play while I’m knitting Monday nights during Milo's practice. The woman behind the bar that makes my perfectly hot cappuccino [even hotter than the metro] recognizes me now and must know I don’t have such a great command of her native tongue. She is patient with me as I ask my question. I find out that the game is called “biliardo” [billiards]. I remark to her that it is “strano” [strange] ~ in the United States when we play billiards our table has pockets and pool sticks. Now ~ I have no words for pockets or pool sticks, but pantomime is a great thing. She understood, but more importantly, was curious about this American in Italy. Another conversation ensued. That made for two in one day.

Walking home Monday night I couldn’t help but utter in English, “I’m wearing my big girl panties today”. Milo looked at me curiously, head cocked to one side, “what?”. “Never mind, Milo”, I said, “there’s not really a translation for that one”.

Ciao my friends,

Chef Kar

P.S. Tune in tomorrow for: "Facebook: Fertile Ground for Manipulators"