Alternative English

Last year, in search of exciting extracurricular activities, I announced to my night class that I prostitute my English. Luckily my students don't have a great grasp of the language because the use of exciting extracurricular activities and prostitution in the same sentence wasn't really the best choice. The right word would have been barter, but had I chosen that I might not have had their full attention. I explained that I would offer my services (speaking English) in return for something they could offer me.

At the end of the class a guy asked if I could ski. Then he asked if I could REALLY ski. I think it's safe to say I can't REALLY play the ukelele or the piano and I can't REALLY paint or write. But I convinced him that I could REALLY ski. So, he bought the lift ticket and lunch and I spoke English for 11 hours.  Luckily, a year later he still needs help with English, so last week we had another beautiful day in the mountains.

I've also been treated to rock climbing (not the wall at the gym) and backcountry skiing (not just going off the slopes at the ski resort). Those days the guy learned a lot of scary new words the  teacher had never used in the classroom. 

Camping in Slovenia with a mountain guide was probably my best gig so far. He put up the tents, cooked and found the hikes. All I had to do was speak English and laugh at his mistakes.

Sadly, it takes two to tango and I'm having a hard time finding a ballerino (dancer, not a male ballerina). I thought someone might like sweet nothings whispered in their ear while waltzing, but I have no takers. It's possible that it's impossible. The men that know how to ballroom dance probably wouldn't be able to hear my whispered words over the music. And those that could, would prefer a much younger ballerina.

Last week I may have met my match in a new student that owns a pizzeria. At the end of the first lesson he proposed that I stop for dinner, we speak English and he pick up the tab (prostituting pizza?). For most folks it wouldn't be a bad deal. A pizza with porcini, prosciutto and parmegiano and a nice glass of wine is definitely more expensive than the hourly rate of the neighborhood English teacher. However, with my unalterable cheese pizza and CocaZero, I'd only be gaining weight and losing money. But now that I think about it, maybe I have another trick (no pun intended) up my sleeve. I can propose paying for the pizza in return for a little cha-cha-cha.
 

Time for Tombola

Just like most years in Italy, I was once again invited to play Tombola (Bingo) on New Year's Eve. I'm not a lover of group games. Put me in front of a puzzle if you want me to stay up really late. But puzzles aren't made for ten people, so I said yes to Tombola.

Each player had two cards to control. In case you haven't played for awhile (like lucky me, until I moved to Italy) you no longer place chips on a little cardboard card with numbers. Now the card lives in a plastic case and has tiny plastic windows that you slide down when your number is called. If you ask me, it takes a bit of the fun out of it. Trying to keep the bingo chips or pennies (or in Italy, beans) from sliding onto the neighboring squares used to be the most exciting part of the game.   

But this year's most exciting part was Cristina, the girl who called the numbers. She drew each one with enthusiasm, asking for silence then waiting for shrieks. She seemed sincerely hopeful that every one of us would win every time.

There were big baskets filled with different-sized prizes wrapped in newspaper. Three, four and five numbers in the same line were all prize-worthy, but it wasn't until all of your windows were shut that you could yell TOMBOLA. As winners opened travel tissues and scented soaps wrapped in newspaper like they were opening a tiny blue box from Tiffany's, I mused about the magic of playing this silly game on the last day of the year; it's nothing more than connecting (or reconnecting).

I've already decided I'm spending next New Year's Eve at my friend's nursing home calling numbers for Tombola. (See December 31, 2025 post.) If I can breathe the same energy into that sterile room of walkers and wheelchairs as our hostess breathed into me, they're going to have to add a new wing to the building because Maria and her other almost 100-year old friends are going to be around for awhile.

Thanks to Cristina's enthusiasm I was reminded that what you give is what you get. Therefore, I have no fear that trading my glittery gold nail polish for a package of plastic clothespins will leave me hanging out to dry. It can only mean that 2026 is sure to sparkle and shine....BINGO!