Va bene...

'Just roll your eyes back in your head and pretend you're invisible.' This is what I say to myself when I am jogging or walking the streets of Rome and am crossing six lanes of oncoming traffic. It's obviously not so much that I think I'm going to be invisible as it is a mantra I repeat in my head that helps me to be calm and do what I now call 'The Dance of The Streets,' con le macchine. (cars) The dance goes something like this: I make a move, they make a move, they get closer, I get closer and just when I think I'm going to get hit ... we gracefully pass one another and it's like the dip in a dance and I sigh. ... Then it's onto the next lane ...

Va bene. (It's all good.)

Jogging today and doing the 'Dance of The Streets' several times in order to get to my destination, Il Colosseo, I was thinking it maybe time to rethink running this course. I carry il mio appartamento keys with me and they are proving good weights for my arms but the cobblestones surrounding The Coliseum forever want to reach out and grab my ankles with the promise of spraining them. Potentially

pericoloso. (dangerous)

I notice another blonde in the crowd near il Colosseo. Since we are a rare find around these parts, I go over to parlare. (speak) Biondi, it turns out, reads tarrot cards and there is something about biondi Stephania that makes one think she comes from a long line of psychics who have read for Nero himself. Perhaps my imagination. Stephania reads my cards and tells me nothing surprising but I enjoy her company and give her a few euros as she also looks like she might be homeless. If her predictions work out ... I will be living permanently in Italy with a certain Italian I've liked for some time and I will have great, ongoing, fortune. Clearly, I think to myself, Stephania rarely picks a bad card during her reads. Tutti positivo! Everything is positive and polite which is good but may not be an accurate view into the future. Va bene.

I stop at a fruit stand and buy some frutta fresca. I try, for the first time, franghe. When I google franghe the only thing I find is that it is toxic to house pets. However, I find it delicioso. The fruit is bigger than a plum but similar in texture and taste and has a necturine's coloring. When I say to the vender, 'Che cosa?' (what is it?) He says, 'Franghe !...' as if, of course it's franghe! Hmmm. I guess I can say 'of course I know it' next time someone asks me about franghe. Va bene.

Time for coffee with thousands of others. Italians frequently stand to receive and enjoy their coffee. I have since learned that there are many ways to order this favored liquid and Italians are very picky when it comes to how this drink is prepared. In addition, the bartender is on display and seems to forever be performing while making drinks. Dishes and cups are flipped showing tricks of dexerity and know-how. Milk is poured and more tricks are on display for entertainment. (Entertainment for me it seems as few Italians barely notice.) I yell, "Bravo!" Italians do notice, however, when their coffee is not prepared correctly. One man next to me, complains his caffe normale has milk in it. This is non giusto. (not correct) Normale, I learn when I ask him, means without milk. Just plain strong coffee. Caffe lungo, is also a popular request. One gentleman complains his 'short' lungo (long) is not lungo enough! This is not acceptable he tells me, as lungo means with more latte. This error sets him off as if the world is ending and I note, along with him, that clearly the drink has been made too short. The bartender is quick to pacify him with more milk. As the latte 'lunghes' ... the gentleman's face relaxes into a smile. He is happy once again. I glance at a ten year old next to him ordering his coffee with confidence even though he can barely see over the bar's top. He shoots his coffee and is out the door. Later when I ask for il conto (my check) the manager gives me a free coffee and his phone number. I notice he is wearing what appears to be a wedding band but chalk it up to the Italian way. Va bene.

So two nuns are at a crosswalk near St. Peter's Basilica and one says to the other ... something I can not hear. The other replies. Sounds like the beginnings of a joke but it is my life. As the two penguins converse, I approach. I am on a mission. But how to phrase what I want to say ... words run through my mind as I try to pick the right ones before I get to these ladies. Finally, I say Buon giorno le sorelle (this means 'hello, sisters'). They do not look happy I'm talking with them. I continue. I ask them about classes they may know of where one can convert to Catholocism. Do they know where I would go or how I would find out more information? One nun decides to look straight ahead as if I'm not standing there. The other responds by saying she only speaks Italian. Since I am speaking in Italian, I have to surmise that either she does not want to speak with me and wishes I would leave or I am speaking poor Italian. Since my sentences are short and facile (easy) ... I think it is the former. Will I leave? No, I decide. I continue. There must be classes they teach or even know of that I could find out about? The final reply by speaking nun (as silent nun continues to stare off into the distance) is ... 'buy a watch.' A sister with some attitude. I like it. The spunk in her is good, although I do not find the information very helpful regarding my original question. Va bene.

I'm always big on the experiences this life offers and feel I am rich in these. So, I figure if I happen to drink caffe lungho with too little milk and do not get noticeably upset and raise my voice about this devastating error, or if i do not turn Catholic right away while here, and/or if my fortune telling does not remotely resemble my actual future then, va bene. It's ok because I am rich in these experiences and will treasure them. That to me is what really counts!

Ciao Tutti. A domani!