Venice @ MindSay

I apologize for beginning with the most sterotypical greeting associated with Italian, but it IS actually used and so we DO actually have to learn it properly in class.  Properly mostly involves, "don't greet strangers in suits this way."  What fascinates me though is the word's history.  In a roundabout way, it actually comes from the word for slave!  Allow me to summarize: once upon a time, local dialects reigned supreme in Italy rather than what enthusiastic educators like to consider the standard language.  (Ok I know this is still the case, but play along...)  At that time, Venice, an entrancing city where all visiters instantly develop an unexpected love of velvet and small boats, was renowned for it's diplomats.  (I always thought it only had pirates, but maybe it depends who is telling the tale.  Anyway.)  In the Venetian dialect, the word schiao used as a greeting of sorts developed from Latin esclavum which meant slave.  Schiao didn't mean slave exactly, but was more of a "your servant" kind of greeting.  Picture people in coats bowing with dignity and perhaps placing one hand on the heart with another on the bill.  Now he says "schiao."  Somehow this turned into the ciao that people the world over know and love today.  Maybe they noticed how successful those Venetians were at selling velvet, or maybe they just wanted to seem well traveled and didn't count on everyone else using it, including folks who only travel through the special addition digital sattelite channels.  Who knows.  In any case, that is the slightly abbreviated, slighly embellished version of my textbook's culture point.  I know a few of our most loyal bloggers have a much closer connection to Italy's language and history than two days of language lessons, so please join in!

The color nazis have won. Our emotionally former but financially still responsible for home is being painted neutral colors as I type. While Jim is up here the amazing indigo blue study is being painted beige and all the pale pink walls which match the pink damask swags and jabots are going white and the window treatments coming down.  The clods have won and I am glad I will never step foot in that house again because it will break my heart to see it all nullified.  

My minor revenge , well not revenge  but consolation, is that bright colors are going up in this house. So far the meditation room is deep purple with teal molding, the guest room is deep rose and the accompanying  bath is wisteria. The master bath will be dark green,  my closet a heavenly iris blue. And the dining room a pomegranate color, then eventually we will paint the living room pale pink and so the fireplace wall with the very high ceiling some color like cinnamon or sage green. That will be tricking because one can see the color from the loft. Anyway I have had a week to mourn the lose of the indigo and now feel it REALLY isn’t my house anymore so I am ok.

So another peevish topic is how long is the statute of limitations ( as a child I thought it was statue of limitations- sort of like the statue of justice on top of court building)  on thank yous? I mean its been a month now since R left and not a single word. Not for the dinners I cooked her, or the times I listened or the goodbye gift or using my whirlpool for two their last night together. When in fact they broke the diverter and I will have to pay $115 for the part and then a plumber to install it. Or the thrown circuits in the garden  room bath which they never bothered to tell me until I was ready to hire an electrician to repair them. Now this is a born and bread southern girl who even if its not HER inclination to write would be urged by her belle mother to do so.  It’s like the bride who six months later still hadn’t thanks me for the very expensive gift we sent and so I finally called her mother to make sure the gift had arrived. Because if it had not I was going to contact the store that sold the china. But it had and her mother apologized for her daughter. What gives. Again an example that these southern niceties are for people who are within the magic circle and can be instrumental or  at least run into  on a Sunday morning or you may need to hit up for a donation or a to be on a volunteer team.  And she  is under the impression that she can stay here if and when she comes back for a seminar but does she think  she can start the suck up process a month before she arrives and I say sure. Let me open my house and have you use my sheets and towels and hot water and eat in my kitchen , I am just longing to be taken advantage of again. Please walk  all over me. I have missed it so much. But I will do the polite thing and say I simply can’t accommodate her  during that time period. Unless she reads this blog and either gets pissed off or contrite. {Pissed off is more likely, a contrite young woman would have sent a simple than you or even a f’ing email. Enough rant.

Jim has put togther several cabinets- white- which I can stencil  and make look lovelier and now he is shortening a drawer which goes where the pot filler faucet plumbing is so I don’t keep shoving it absentmindedly. Last night Indian dinner was good, except for the spicy cauliflower. Not to my tastes at all but acceptable. And a rousing good fire while we all snuggled around the wood stove and they told us about Venice and we talked about workmen, I would rather discuss Venice but since we wont be vacationing anywhere much for the longest time other than to sit n the top deck, it’s nice to hear about their favorite cities. I think Abi is following jim around the house, he locked her out on the deck last night and when I found her she was crouched under the table cold and worried. Poor thing. Today we will have to put on the animal planet for her so she can have some fun with TV.

After checking in so late, he'd taken most of the morning sleeping a little later, hot hot coffee, hot hot shower and extra close shave . .  cold-bloodily avoiding phones and messages. Jeans, white shirt and sports coat . . . Along the shoreline walkway was a good place to walk, with businesses just opening up on the other side, cars trying to parallel park and it was easy to have your thoughts to yourself and blend in, enjoy the cool breeze that kept the sun from being just a bit too warm.

There were few people on the Promenade and he was stopped briefly in front of the GAP, shook hands with an acquaintance, and was headed for the deli at the far end. It looked just like it did in the movie and he could sit where DeNiro did in the scene . . . remembering the menu, he was settled on his favorite already . . . Ruben and a beer . . . on tap . . . salt & vinegar chips. Early lunch and walking it off, that was the plan. As he approached the deli, ready to order . . . friends recognized him, surprised to see him, and pulled a chair out for him. He'd have something, and then excuse himself.

The server took his order and promptly bought the beer, deep deep golden in a tall heavy fluted glass. Sipping so he didn't have to talk, or explain . . . he's a detached observer to the conversation and they're explaining what's been happening with familiar friends in common . . . catching up. A woman sitting slightly behind him and to his right, reaches over and places her hand on his to get his attention. She's very beautiful and smiles, happy to see him. She runs her fingers over his affectionately, says nothing but holds his look and after a minute she excuses herself and walks out. He looks at his friends and asks if they saw her and what happened. They said they did and held their conversation, everyone smiling and looking at him.

He excuses himself and walks out on the Promenade. She is up ahead of him, people recognize him and stop briefly to say something, shake hands, and it slows him down from catching up to her. He looks ahead and sees she'd stopped, looking at a fashion window display, looked back at him and then continued walking. She slowed down and turned to him as he came up behind her. She stood close, smiled and took his hand and led him along the Promenade looking at the shops. Every so often, she would get close, walk with his arm around her and turn her head for a kiss . . . and giggle when he continued to hold the kiss.

"It's a lovely Piazza. Isn't it?"  She asked and stood close again to him, his arm around her. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him softly for a long moment, then kissed him again.

Walking in the shade of an awning she stopped and turned towards him. He raised his arms to hold her, she tilted her head, smiled a little and the look in her eyes had changed. She took his hands and held them between the two of them. He could look into her eyes and how beautiful she was, and they stood there for the longest time, then she looked past him. She let go of his hands, briefly looked at him, let out a long breath and walked past. A man was walking up behind them. She went, put her arms around him and kissed him as he embraced her. He had flowers for her, took her by the hand and walked across the Promenade to the curb where a limo and driver were waiting. The driver opened the door for her  . . . then drove away.

G.

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