That Little Extra Something

It's Christmas cookie season. I didn't get a lot of cookies as gifts in the States, but in Italy with a few friends and students it's become a tradition. As a true cookie connoisseur (one who appreciates lots of butter and sugar) I can't say I'm terribly excited about the cookies I'm given. It's the packaging that interests me. Some come on a shiny, gold, cardboard tray wrapped in cellophane. Others come in tiny, clear bags tied with jute and have a little tag with the ingredients.

One of my favorite packages is from a lady that lives on the island. She has six kids. They're all married (that makes 12) and they all have kids (I think they're up to 29). Yet, year after year she finds time to deliver what I call dry, butterless hearts, stars and braids (an Italian tradition loved by Italians). For me the best part is the little brown bag with a strip of gold tinsel stapled to the top. There's always a note attached (it's usually about Jesus) and it's written in English (just for me) by one of her kids or grandkids.

This year, the day after Christmas, the island cookies made their way to the mountains with us. Upon arrival they were unpacked and put in the fruit bowl. I know that's not the best place for cookies, but seeing that they seemed to lack sugar and butter, I thought it might be just enough to make me eat an apple.

The following day I saw the bag with tinsel just as it was about to be torn apart and thrown in the fire. When I asked why, I was calmy told, "E' solo qualcosa in piu', no?" I stopped the burning of my favorite cookie bag just in time and explained that the packaging was the best part. It's what reminded me of Maria; the stapled tinsel and the part about Jesus.

The rest of the day I found myself quietly repeating the phrase, "E' solo qualcosa in piu'." It literally translates as 'it's just something more', but in English it doesn't have the same ring to it. I asked the almost arsonist for a synonymous sentence and was told "E' qualcosa di superfluo." Perfect. It's just something superfluous. That gets the feeling across.

I find it sad that an obsession with order leaves no room for superfluousness; something I consider an enhancement to an otherwise dull life. There was definitely room in the fruit bowl for a little gold tinsel. We should always have room for superfluous things, and if we don't, we should make room.

We're told that when life gives us lemons we should make lemonade. And I think when it gives us cookies baked with so much love there's no room for sugar, we should enjoy the tinsel.

Parents Say Things

Parents say the darndest things. It's no wonder kids' favorite words are 'why not'. And seeing that I'm not a parent, I've dangerously fallen into the kid group at the risk of gaining enemies and losing friends. More and more often I find myself giving up something I really want just to keep peace between my little friends and my big ones.

Take CocaZero (aka Coke Zero) for example. Other grown-ups drink beer and wine and some even smoke in front of their tots. Those bad habits are allowed because they're off-limits to kids. Parents don't feel guilty partaking and kids don't feel left out. But this grown-up doesn't like beer and wine and sometimes has the need for an ice cold CocaZero. The problem is, my drink of choice isn't illegal for kids. So if I have it, they want it. And that's where I'm stuck. Drinking my Coke doesn't quench my thirst the same way a beer makes a dad say "Ahhh!" Mine includes envious eyes and sad smiles from whom it's been forbidden. That's enough to pour myself a glass of water.

I've spent most of my life eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and potato chips simultaneously. It's created a monster. I like two things served at the same time and I decide when to take a bite of one or the other. I like my salad WITH my pasta, my Oreos WITH my ice cream and my french fries WITH my hamburger. But try opening a bag of potato chips with a family when the kids haven't finished their sandwiches yet. I suppose it's easy for most adults to wait. But this monster likes soft things and crunchy things at the same time. The parents tell me to go ahead and open the chips but that the kids can't start crunching until they've finished their mortadella (aka bologna) sandwiches. The kids reluctantly agree. But this (sometimes) softy doesn't have the heart, so I, too, patiently wait for the signal from Mom and Dad.

Don't walk barefoot in the house (the truth is, don't even walk in your socks. You have slippers.) Stay out of the tall, wet grass (but that's where adventures begin). And don't crack the ice in the frozen puddle (but then you'll never hear that splintering crack that only comes from cracking ice in frozen puddles). All we want to know is why not.

Last month I was invited on vacation in Vienna with a family of four. Onlookers would have seen a mom and dad rushing ahead with two kids and Maria (from the Sound of Music) curiously walking hand-in-hand often far behind them. Our evenings ended with chamomile and cookies as the five of us sat huddled around the little table on four chairs and a bunkbed planning the next day. The mom's insistence that the 8-year old drink the hot chamomile brought understandable protests as to why it couldn't be drunk cold. That's when Maria (aka me) took over for Chiara, maturely asking, "Is there actually a valid reason she has to drink the tea hot? Because I'd really like to know if cold things hurt you or if hot things make your digestive tract work better. And if we understood why she had to drink it hot, maybe she'd drink it. Right, Chiara?" I was so shocked by my courage to ask, I don't remember the answer. But I have a feeling it included some hemming and hawing.   

My parents' militant comeback would have been (as always), "Because I said so." That's all it took to make me stop asking why. But if there'd been an explanation maybe I'd have learned something and now I wouldn't be so desperately curious about absolutely everything in life. Perhaps the only thing I'd be left wondering is if I'll ever be invited on another family vacation.

It's 10:10

Most people see their names in lights from time to time. Kids run to souvenier shops looking for bracelets, mini-license plates and mugs made just for them. Some have the same names as presidents, serial killers and movie stars and they find their names in magazines and on the 6 o'clock news. The only time I ever came close was when the bachelorette on the reality tv show, The Bachelorette, was named Tenley. I lived in Paris at the time and the bachelorette was engaged and married (and maybe divorced) before I got home. Fortunately my name didn't catch on and as far as I know, it was never stamped on a water bottle or pencil.
The truth is I do see my name around town, but I think I'm the only one that notices. The standard time to display the hands on an unwound (or battery-less) clock is 10:10. I've read that it's the most pleasing position for one's eyes. I'm sure some marketing genius thought of it. 9:25 isn't as welcoming and 2:05 draws your attention to only one place. 10:10 gives you more options. Your eyes go from left to right and the spaces above and below the hands are wide open for a full view of the clock's face.
Unfortunately, the marketing genius had already died before the Casio watch was invented. When someone read the manual on what time to set a non-working digital clock for publicity purposes they followed suit with the 10:10 meant for clocks with hands.  
When I opened my new running watch on Christmas morning the first thing I saw was two big tens; one green and the other white. I thought the box had been hand-decorated just for me. I'm not the only one who likes to play with markers. Then I saw that the numbers were printed on the box and I assumed it was the Garmin's model number. It wasn't until the next day that I realized it was a photo of the watch set at 10:10.
When I see 10:10 my first thought is not the time. I don't read it as ten after ten.  It looks more like a good score on a test, part of a math equation or the time it takes an average runner to run a mile.  
In any case, I was happy to discover that in the digital world I haven't been forgotten. I don't share my name with a Biblical figure, but now that I've brought things to light, maybe you'll start thinking of me when your clock strikes 10:10. If I'm lucky you'll think of me twice a day. Now that's what I call a real marketing genius.

     


 

Giving the Bird

I flipped off a cat yesterday. It wasn't doing anything wrong; just sitting at the end of my driveway watching me eat lunch. I wasn't in the mood for onlookers. I wasn't in the mood for my seven thousandth bowl of chicken broth with noodles. And I wasn't in the mood for cats.   

Just to clarify. I've never written the words 'flip off', and I've almost never used my middle finger for anything but a joke. But I don't have feelings for felines. Too lazy to get up to yell out the window or 'shoe' it away (running shoes aren't just for running) I slurped my soup, stared at the cat and flipped it off.

It was like a stranger on a busy street intercepting the wave intended for another. The cat looked over its shoulder as if to say, "Is this bird for me?"

It was just what I needed to pull my head from my soup and realize that worrying about my woes wasn't worth it.