Let me first say that if I seem on the cranky side, I am. I do not like anything extreme, and heat with an thick air of humidity is one of those things. And I just learned, having gotten up about 10am, that I seem to have missed an airing of Milan's match today, during which one-of-the-objects-of-my-obsession, Pippo Inzaghi, scored 3 goals. For the record, my post title here doesn't refer to being cranky enough to be dangerous, so I'll leave that alone for now.
What it does refer to, is how I know enough Italian to be dangerous but not enough to get myself out of trouble. Knowing what I do about the power of the mind and one's spoken word, I might do well to stop saying that. Maybe I will after this post because I have such good stories to tell about evidence has yielded in my life so far, especially within the last year.
Pool Toys
Last May I spent a week in Sicily, at the beautiful agriturismo property at Sant'Agata Millitello.
(I wish I was there now.)
If you click on the link above, you will see the swimming pool. It is actually my swimming pool, and trust me, I will be going back one day, sooner than later, to remind them of this! The week I stayed here, it was incredibly hot (kind of like today), and they did not have plans to open the pool until June 1, but I was leaving May 28 and, as I said, it was incredibly hot. See the photos of the terrazza, where for the first couple days I did lounge like a lizard between the shade and sun but, I was very gently but firmly persuasive about them getting the pool ready for me. They finally did.
Now here was the deal. The property was managed by their father and two beautiful brothers, both of whom I was afraid I would fall in love with at the same time and so I did but, back to my story...I told them, in my best (albeit limited) Italian, that what they needed for my pool, were some pool toys.
This was a very curious concept to them, and there wasn't a simple way I could explain things like plastic floats, water wings for children, rafts, styrofoam noodles, perhaps the things a 9-yr-old-child-in-a-grownup-body might play with in swimming pools here. I did not know these words in Italian but, I did know enough to say in Italian, with a smile I'm sure, mind you...
"They're things to play with in the pool. They're usually for children, but sometimes they're for adults, too."
As soon as I said the word "adulti" I knew I was in trouble. They blushed, I blushed, we all laughed nervously, and I realized that I had suggested a reference to something along the lines of "adult toys" of another persuasion. Fine. I decided right then and there I was going to just shut up and not speak any more Italian. EVER.
The good end of the story, I am pleased to report, is that I was shopping in town later that day, and there was a little clothing boutique that offered a catalog of their summer line...and each model in every picture, sported some kind of ("children's") pool toy as a prop.
Now there was a gift from the gods. Don't I always say that life is so good??
Allora. I gave the catalog to Mauro when he came to pick me up in town (I forgot to mention that he and Massimo were always my personal drivers, concierge, slaves, etc.; as I said, I loved them), I could in fact tell him that these were pool toys, and we had a good laugh. I did buy a toy water pistol for the pool another day. I left it there for them, or better, for their beautiful little nephew, when I finally departed from what came to feel like my home there. In tears, by the way.
Tu sai, you know, that kind of seems like enough for you to digest about now. What I will do is write another post about my second story on this theme. It has occurred to everyone by now, I'm sure, that I perhaps could not tell a story in its condensed form if my life depended on it.
Stay tuned. Another litany on this topic follows, in Part 2.
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