Sunday 23 October 2011
Mass and overdue laundry on a Sunday, the perfect Italian-American blend. (Though in male-dominated Italy, you don't often see the men doing the laundromat dance. Charles got a few stares from strollers-by that turned into smiles and waves.)
Charles took charge, knowing that machines with instructions in an unknown language are fraught with peril no matter how innocuous they appear, and it was a good thing because he was about to scream when it appeared his € 7 investment was irretrievably lost, but then frantic but savvy button-punching saved the day/the load and it was a happy and clean ending. (Though drying was still incomplete after another € 7 dropped in, and the giant load had to be hauled back to the patio for drying rack finishing. Total investment, one load of laundry: € 14 = $19. Ouch the budget.)
Tending the load meant missing mass, and when he heard the report he was sorry he did. Apparently one of the altar boys, around nine, was a totally entertaining distraction. It seemed he could barely remember where he was and what he was about, much to the consternation of his fellow acolytes, and the amusement of the congregation. He would shuffle his feet, stretch, lounge, pick his nose, put things in the wrong place, ring bells at the wrong times. But kindly Fr. Don seemed benevolent in his guidance of his little loose canon, and perhaps that was the most powerful sermon of the day. It was a mass to remember.
We chilled out for the rest of the day -- we were getting good at that, and loving it -- till our nighttime rendezvous at Lisa's cute apartment for a four-course Italian dinner with sing-along, joined by our new Italian-Aussie friend Lucia, a part-time resident of Piegaro, like Lisa. Good food, good wines, good music, good night.
Mass and overdue laundry on a Sunday, the perfect Italian-American blend. (Though in male-dominated Italy, you don't often see the men doing the laundromat dance. Charles got a few stares from strollers-by that turned into smiles and waves.)
Charles took charge, knowing that machines with instructions in an unknown language are fraught with peril no matter how innocuous they appear, and it was a good thing because he was about to scream when it appeared his € 7 investment was irretrievably lost, but then frantic but savvy button-punching saved the day/the load and it was a happy and clean ending. (Though drying was still incomplete after another € 7 dropped in, and the giant load had to be hauled back to the patio for drying rack finishing. Total investment, one load of laundry: € 14 = $19. Ouch the budget.)
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| "Our" church in Piegaro |
Tending the load meant missing mass, and when he heard the report he was sorry he did. Apparently one of the altar boys, around nine, was a totally entertaining distraction. It seemed he could barely remember where he was and what he was about, much to the consternation of his fellow acolytes, and the amusement of the congregation. He would shuffle his feet, stretch, lounge, pick his nose, put things in the wrong place, ring bells at the wrong times. But kindly Fr. Don seemed benevolent in his guidance of his little loose canon, and perhaps that was the most powerful sermon of the day. It was a mass to remember.
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| (Left to right) Dian, Lisa, Lucia, Nicole |
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