Archive for the ‘love’ Category
Love Thursday: How a Jean Jacket and Some Wind Can Change Your Life
Let me confess that I have a bit of a jacket/coat fetish. I love them. All. If I could afford to have a different jacket/coat for every day of the year, for every kind of weather, I would. Hooded, traditional collar, zipper, button, cropped, ankle-length, sporty, any color, any time.
So imagine my excitement when, the last time I was in America, I found a spectacular jean jacket at the Gap–on sale! Jean jackets are particularly difficult for me–must be the exact right length, right color, right level of fittedness. You see the issues. Well this one was it. So it came back to Italy with me, and I treasured it.
But then one exceptionally windy day in May of 2005, I carelessly rested it on my shoulder bag as I walked from the piazza to my house, about a three minute walk. In my defense, I was also carrying my friend’s cat, who I’d be watching that weekend. When I got to my house, I set down the little guy and took the bag off my shoulder. No jacket.
Now, when I say that it was exceptionally windy, we’re talking hurricane force gusts. We get powerful winds from all directions, but this one was the scirocco from the Sahara (they tell me), and it was ridiculously fierce. We’re far enough away that we don’t get the sand too, but my friends in Sicilia often aren’t so lucky (they tell me). I actually had doubts that my jacket was even still in the village.
I went back up to the piazza and began walking around kind of aimlessly, looking for cornered spots where the jacket may have landed. I was interrupted by one of the guys from the village. We’ll call him #1. I had seen him around and we had exchanged “ciao” many times, but we had never actually met. Next thing I knew, he had rounded up a group of young boys and they were searching high and low for my jacket; he even sent one down into the vegetation just over the ledge of the lookout point of the square.
In the meantime, another young man from the village–let’s call him #2–began chatting me up. A bunch of smalltalk, nothing special, but noticeably not even a mention of the missing jacket. So I’m standing there, and I’m nodding to whatever it was he was blathering on about, and what I’m really thinking is how unbelievably nice it was of #1 to organize a makeshift search team and actually *do* something for me rather than just hit on me. And wasn’t he kind of cute after all?
The fruitless search ended soon thereafter. Dejected, I walked home on the main street. About halfway down, I heard “Signorina!” from a woman on her balcony. Turns out she saw my jacket fly away, and she was keeping it safe and sound in her house the whole time. Reunited!
That evening after dinner, I put on my beloved jacket and took a walk into the piazza. I noticed #1 in the doorway of the bar and thought I should at least tell him that I found the darn thing. So I walked up there and did just that. He asked if I wanted an amaro (a digestive liqueur). Here I should mention that #1 had asked me if I wanted a coffee or other beverage, oh, probably 20 times before–but that’s not an usual thing here as even the old geezers are always offering. Or maybe I just always look thirsty.
Anyway, usually I respond to such questions with a quick “No, no,” wind up the conversation, and skadoodle. But this time, before I had chance to think, I had already accepted the amaro. And I don’t even like amaro.
We spent that evening walking and talking, getting to know one another, and have been together ever since. Yes, clever readers, #1 is the infamous P, and this was our first official meeting. It was love at first flight! Sorry, couldn’t resist.
But now you know the story of how a jean jacket and some wind can change your life. Or at least mine.
But if you’re waiting for pic of P, or of P and me, sorry to disappoint. He’s still blog shy and despite the fact that he doesn’t read English, pictures are the universal language.
Please note that Chookooloonks, the founder of Love Thursday, has ended her written journal, but you can find her photography journal (with a fabulous Love Thursday photo) here.
Happy Love Thursday everyone!
Welcome/Benvenuti!
Well, once again I’ve done it the hard way. Instead of easing myself into this whole thing, using a basic Blogger template, I’ve gone and found one on my own–only I have absolutely no idea about html thingies and whatnot. So this has been a fun past couple of hours!
But back to the basics.
I’ve been sitting on the sidelines for far too long on this blogging thing, but it wasn’t entirely my fault. I’ve been living in a medieval village with shoddy Internet access. We’ll call it “dial up.” I put off even getting it in the house for a while, but finally decided I needed to keep in better touch with all my English speaking friends, and so, I got my very own phone with my very own line. Well, it’s really more “ours,” as it is under P’s name.
And who’s P you Nosey Roseys are surely wondering? I’ll spare you the gag-me-with-a-cucchiaio cutesy nicknames and just leave it at this: he’s my beau. A year and a half and counting. He speaks no English so the chances of him happening upon this blog and discovering what I’ve written are none to none. Although pictures are fair game.
No matter, though, as I’m a good fidanzata, I think, and I’m not one for airing dirty laundry. In fact, I hate hanging out clean laundry–and apparently I don’t do it correctly anyway–but that’s a story for another entry.
Ooh! Material! I have some!
The only other thing I’ll mention now is that I’m a writer, and that was the main impetus to start up this bad boy. If you want to get right down to the pit o’ the peach (90210 fans, I know you caught that!), I’m just jealous that other aspiring authors get all kinds of valuable practice and feedback every day while I just talk to my computer. And he never answers. Stronzo.
Hey, does it annoy you when people throw foreign words into their conversations? Sorry about that. It’s kind of hard to only think in one language now, so I like to believe that I’ll be giving my readers incentive to learn some Italian. And you know, if you’re planning a trip here, “stronzo” ain’t a bad place to start.
So, folks, I’m in. A joiner at last.
Now let’s play nice.
Michelle Kaminsky is an American attorney-turned-freelance writer who lived in her family's ancestral village in Calabria, Italy for 15 years. This blog is now archived.
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