Day Thirty-Two, Thursday Night, Plain and Simple

First I must mention that I am writing this up on TR's home computer, I feel like I am writing in the lap of luxury, the keys light up, I can see so clearly!! Oaky, that's mentioned, onwards...

I noticed that I have developed a routine with this blog. I go through my email, find the icon that takes me to blogger, look at the stats, roll the cursor over the little mountain tops that indicate the day's number of views. After I have done that for a minute or two, I always go to the page that lists all the posts, to make sure that I am giving the post the correct number in the title. I don't know why I get so much pleasure watching the cursor roll over the mountain tops. The same numbers pop up each time, I think the highest number so far is 8 views in one day. Besides TR, LS (who is my one subscriber, yay!), CC, and my mother, I don't know who else in the world would be reading this (I feel the need to interject that despite fabulous, light up keys my typing skills remain the same, poor at best. In fact I think they are a little worse as I seem to be slightly mesmerized by the pretty lights.). Maybe no one, maybe they have only happened on this funny spot on the internet by accident and they quickly navigate away after realizing they have stumbled into the wrong room. This last sentence makes me want to tell a story, and since it is my blog, I will.

Once upon a time, many, many years ago, two sisters travelled together by train to a medieval city in Italy. It was rainy season, the skies were merciless and the sisters were forced to re-board the train and travel on to the next stop on their itinerary, Florence. They wandered from the train station wide eyed with wonder at the seemingly ancient buildings that crowded together at the streets edge, as if they were custodians of the city peering down upon passers by to make sure that no skulduggery was taking place. They consulted their guide book and chose a Pensione that seemed wildy romantic enough to fit in with their idea of Florence and all it should be. They spent several days poking around the city, in a and out of shops, sitting for hours in front of art masterpieces they had seen for so long in books, and were shocked at how much more breathtaking those same works of art were when viewed in person. The story that I will tell of that visit takes place one one rainy night.

They were caught in a deluge, the skies opened with no warning and let all the water they were holding down at once. They ran through the raindrops to the first doorway they found and it happened to be a restaurant, which suited them as it was dinner time and they were starved. The doorway was low, wide, and arched. It was the color of sun shining on a wheat field and when they ducked into it, it led down a light filled corridor to a bustling dining room. They asked the host if they might find a table for two available, and he looked at the wet girls doubtfully but spied a table at the back that could seat four and told them if they didn't mind sharing he would allow them to sit there. They readily agreed and were escorted to the table where they gratefully shed their wet coats and sank into their chairs. The waiter was a friendly young man who didn't speak much english (the sisters spoke NO Italian), but didn't seem bothered by the communication gap and served them with a cheerful demeanor that made them feel welcome and well taken care of. About fifteen minutes after they had been seated a couple was shown to the remaining two seats at the table. They were American and the girls could not help overhearing the conversation. In fact after a bit, the girls completely stopped conversing with each other because they were unable to stop themselves from eavesdropping on the couple. It turned out the couple were newly weds, and from the moment they sat down, it was clear the new, young wife was in charge, of everything. She spoke about how much she loved Florence, that her parents had insisted they honeymoon there because they knew how much it meant to her. She told him about all her favorite places they would be visiting, and she told him how she loved the restaurant they were eating at, she was a regular when she visited Florence and they loved her there. Well not the waiter. Each time he came to the table at her request, his face was a little sourer when he left. Either her Italian was horribly bad or she was just rude to him generally. All the while he remained, kind and sweet when serving the sisters. Towards the end of the meal, he brought around a bowl of grated parmesan cheese and graciously communicated to the sisters what it was and did they want any? They thankfully accepted his offer, and after serving them he started back to the kitchen, As he was turning away the new, young wife called after him, demanding that she and her husband be served cheese as well. He about faced, smiled at the sisters as he marched by and with a venomous look, practically threw the bowl down as he passed the couple and just kept on walking. The sisters watched open-mouthed, and at the end of the meal, generously tipped the young man who had taken such good care of them even though they were two bedraggled girls masquerading as worldy travelers. Which was a huge lesson in you get what you give. The two girls enjoyed every minute of their visit to Florence and there are many more stories of the wonderful adventure they had.

That wasn't at all what I planned for today, but that's what happened to come out of my head and my fingers, so there it is. I have to go to bed now, TR is almost sound asleep. So goodnight!

This photo is chosen because I am giving a tour of the High School tomorrow, I am nervous!

P.S. I must give photo credit to TR, this is all him, his vision, his super-neat-home-made-tilt-shift lens. I thank him for the loan of the image, he is an amazing artist.