Saturday, March 2, 2013

piacere

love among the ruins

This is the thing about Italy:
once you arrive, it spoils you.

The sun is warmer;
the sky is bluer;
the air is cleaner and clearer.
It's like Italy is trying to out-do the rest of the world in beauty.
And I have to say, she's doing quite well.

The sounds from the quiet little Prati neighborhood float up through my window as I finish my giant cappuccino. My definition of what a cappuccino is has completely changed. For evermore, when someone says: "cappuccino" I will expect to find a mountain of spoonable froth floating like a cloud over my coffee. As I put the final touches on emails, and catch up with correspondence, and emailing my mother to assure her I am still living (she is a much greater woman than I. When I have a nest of my own, I don't think I'll have the courage to allow my little chickadees to fly away.), I take the last bites of the warmest, sweetest, softest cornetti [like a croissant, and yet so much more] that my mouth has ever had the pleasure of meeting.
piacere is the word for that, I was informed.
Pleasure to meet you.


"I have felt, and I feel even in this very moment, that one receives one’s life precisely when he offers it as a gift," said Benedict on Wednesday.
I didn't understand him, because he was speaking in Italian, which is still a beautiful mystery to my ears.
Although you learn, you pick up bits and pieces along the way.
Such as this morning, when  I walked out of my quiet little neighborhood, into the bustle of Viale Vaticano and into the heart of St. Peter's square, I smiled as the sun rose, reflecting off the white stone.
piacere, Roma.
Pleasure to meet you.
The sweet pleasure comes not from the receiving, but from the offering.


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