The people I meet traveling are almost always more memorable than the places I see. And sometimes the people I DON'T meet leave a lasting impression, too.
At a photo exhibition in Mostar, Bosnia I saw a girl in her thirties. She was wearing leggings, a baggy sweater and a scarf. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was pushing a bike with a wicker basket just like mine. This photo was different than the faded black and white war photos I'm used to with people in strange clothes with funny hairdos. The girl looked like she could have been my friend. The photo was taken in 1993 and she had just crossed the Mostar Bridge (which was bombed later that same year).
Maybe she was out to fill her basket with groceries and fresh flowers or returning from a cafe where she'd just met a friend for coffee. The war lasted so long that most people had no choice but to continue trying to live their lives. This girl was living history.
Most of you are living history, too. The history of the Covid-19 pandemic. But I'm not. I'm hiding in my tiny house in my tiny town in Italy. And when I'm not home, I'm close to home in the big field next door. I don't watch news about the coronavirus because I don't have a TV (my choice). And even though I could get updates on the internet, I seldom do that either (my choice). I was frightened by the costumed men that came to test my neighbors for the virus on February 22 and since then I've done my best to avoid other unsettling images.
I should probably be embarrassed to admit that I wonder if I'll regret my choice. But the truth is, I am embarrassed and I do wonder. I'm an observer, not a participant. Actually, I'm not even an observer. I haven't walked through an eerily empty piazza. I haven't heard the announcement at the grocery store that the folks in aisle 4 have to keep their distance. I haven't bought bread at the bakery that allows one customer in at a time and I haven't had pizza delivered from the masked guy on his Vespa. The only images I have of life in Italy during the pandemic are the ones I've created myself.
I hope the girl on Stari Most (Mostar Bridge) is still alive and sitting in a cafe in Bosnia (or her new country, if she fled as a refugee) telling her friend that she remembers the last time she crossed that beautiful bridge on her bike. And I hope one day in the future when I'm in a bar (cafe) in Italy and my friend tells me that she remembers seeing a hearse, a priest and one onlooker in front of the town's church I'll finally have the courage to listen without humming loudly and plugging my ears. But I'll remain silent. Walking hundreds of miles in the field next door and living 63 (and sadly counting) days with no pizza is far from tragic. I'll have no stories to share because history is in the eye of the beholder and I haven't beheld.
(!!!Please note: I'm well aware that life during the Bosnian War and the coronavirus pandemic are worlds apart, but living on lockdown has made me think about life during war times. I cautiously broached the subject with my Bosnian friend in Chicago who wasn't offended and said that in fact, there are some similarities.)
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Tuesday, April 21, 2020
Memories of West Michigan
Dear Readers,
My hometown newspaper asked me to write this article. It won't make any sense to a lot of you, but I wanted to share it here anyway, because there might just be someone reading in West Michigan.
I also used some lines from a past blog (in case you're keeping track).
--Tenley
__________________________________________________________________
I told Toto long ago that we weren't in Kansas anymore, but I'm constantly reminded that even when you're somewhere over the rainbow you're not so far from home. Between 1965 and 1987 West Michigan was home, but in the past 33 years I've found pieces of home all over the world, and those that I haven't found will go on living in MY memories of West Michigan.
In the 80s, "Let's go to Paris" meant I was in the mood for Yesterdog. Hearing the sound of the road change when the tires hit the bricks made me dream of a cobblestone street in Paris. Many years later when I actually lived on a cobblestone street in Paris the bumps made my bike bell ring which reminded me of Yesterdog's tip horn. If only the guys on the streets of Paris sold cheddardogs instead of just Nutella crepes.
After Eastown came East Grand Rapids for a double dip of mint chocolate chip ice cream at Jersey Junction, my favorite place for a date. Or, if I wanted to be served by a friendly waitress in a little gold dress with white trim and an apron I'd go for a piece of Mint Chip Pie at Sweetland's on Plainfield. I'd discovered the pie when I was a teenager and no longer qualified for the free gum drop sundae that came with the kid's meal. And neither ice cream treat was complete without a little bag of seafoam from the candy counter.
If Sweetland's was closed (or our favorite waitress that really knew the meaning of whipped cream wasn't working) we'd head a little further down Plainfield for some Bill Knapp's Hot Fudge Cake (also served by a friendly waitress in a gold dress) and a Bing Crosby serenade, because it was always someone's birthday.
Living in Italy there's never a shortage of gelato (ice cream), but it would be nice if it were served in a place that features fabulous food and fantastic fountain fantasies to frolicking fun-filled festive families, like Farrell's Ice Cream Parlor. And I've yet to leave a gelateria (ice cream parlor) with a piece of foot long licorice for dessert.
According to my American visitors ice cream in Italy is better, but I think half of it is the thrill of an ice cream cone at 5:30pm. In Michigan that's when your mom says you can't have it because it's almost suppertime. In Italy, it's part of Happy Hour, and dinner can wait.
At least one Italian American family has convinced Michiganders that a late supper is worth the wait. The long lines on the front and back staircases of Fricano's in Grand Haven are proof. I hope the red and white checked tablecloths are still shaken out (right behind your back) and turned over for the next customer. And I hope you still get a paper placemat with the list of 5 ingredients and the sketch of the gondola. Had you asked me 35 years ago what kind of pizza I'd be eating in 2020 I would've said cheese, just like at Fricano's. But had you told me that one day I'd be learning how to "vogare alla Veneziana" (row a gondola-like boat with one oar while standing) I would've said, "I suppose you also think fountains can sing."
Which brings us back to dessert, a soft serve cone from Dairy Treat with it's whimsical wall of giant circles and a walk on the pier, followed of course, by the musical fountain.
I think if I really looked I could find some of these things in Italy. But for now if I just close my eyes and click my red heels, it's not hard to find what I'm missing.
My hometown newspaper asked me to write this article. It won't make any sense to a lot of you, but I wanted to share it here anyway, because there might just be someone reading in West Michigan.
I also used some lines from a past blog (in case you're keeping track).
--Tenley
__________________________________________________________________
 |
| A lesson in the lagoon |
In the 80s, "Let's go to Paris" meant I was in the mood for Yesterdog. Hearing the sound of the road change when the tires hit the bricks made me dream of a cobblestone street in Paris. Many years later when I actually lived on a cobblestone street in Paris the bumps made my bike bell ring which reminded me of Yesterdog's tip horn. If only the guys on the streets of Paris sold cheddardogs instead of just Nutella crepes.
After Eastown came East Grand Rapids for a double dip of mint chocolate chip ice cream at Jersey Junction, my favorite place for a date. Or, if I wanted to be served by a friendly waitress in a little gold dress with white trim and an apron I'd go for a piece of Mint Chip Pie at Sweetland's on Plainfield. I'd discovered the pie when I was a teenager and no longer qualified for the free gum drop sundae that came with the kid's meal. And neither ice cream treat was complete without a little bag of seafoam from the candy counter.
If Sweetland's was closed (or our favorite waitress that really knew the meaning of whipped cream wasn't working) we'd head a little further down Plainfield for some Bill Knapp's Hot Fudge Cake (also served by a friendly waitress in a gold dress) and a Bing Crosby serenade, because it was always someone's birthday.
Living in Italy there's never a shortage of gelato (ice cream), but it would be nice if it were served in a place that features fabulous food and fantastic fountain fantasies to frolicking fun-filled festive families, like Farrell's Ice Cream Parlor. And I've yet to leave a gelateria (ice cream parlor) with a piece of foot long licorice for dessert.
According to my American visitors ice cream in Italy is better, but I think half of it is the thrill of an ice cream cone at 5:30pm. In Michigan that's when your mom says you can't have it because it's almost suppertime. In Italy, it's part of Happy Hour, and dinner can wait.
At least one Italian American family has convinced Michiganders that a late supper is worth the wait. The long lines on the front and back staircases of Fricano's in Grand Haven are proof. I hope the red and white checked tablecloths are still shaken out (right behind your back) and turned over for the next customer. And I hope you still get a paper placemat with the list of 5 ingredients and the sketch of the gondola. Had you asked me 35 years ago what kind of pizza I'd be eating in 2020 I would've said cheese, just like at Fricano's. But had you told me that one day I'd be learning how to "vogare alla Veneziana" (row a gondola-like boat with one oar while standing) I would've said, "I suppose you also think fountains can sing."
Which brings us back to dessert, a soft serve cone from Dairy Treat with it's whimsical wall of giant circles and a walk on the pier, followed of course, by the musical fountain.
I think if I really looked I could find some of these things in Italy. But for now if I just close my eyes and click my red heels, it's not hard to find what I'm missing.
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Masks....Not Just For Carnevale Anymore
To mask or not to mask? That's usually a question Italians ask every year at the end of February during Carnevale. And although this year's event was cut short due to the coronavirus, the question remains.
In the beginning there was a myriad of mixed messages. When we were told masks were only necessary for doctors we wondered why they worked for doctors and not the rest of us. And then we were told they were only for doctors and infected people. But with a 14-day incubation period there were a lot of infected people seemingly healthy and maskless. That seems like it might have been the right time to say we should all be wearing them.
On March 12, nine Chinese epidemic experts came to help out with the crisis in Italy. Upon arrival they were photographed with the President of the Italian Red Cross. Only one person pictured was maskless (and he wasn't Chinese).
One of the biggest concerns for the Chinese 9 (as I affectionately call them) was that few Italians were wearing masks. That seems like it might have been another good time to make them compulsory. Experts from a country already devastated by the disease are in shock that we're not using masks and we continue not using them.
A few weeks ago companies were required to supply their employees with masks and the employees were required to wear them. But this rule only applied at work. I asked myself why you should protect yourself from your co-workers but not the guy at the gas station.
The last week of March I'd heard that volunteers from the Civil Protection Agency would be delivering masks to each home in the community. It's not the kind of delivery one gets excited about, yet I found myself waiting anxiously (not for the masks, but for fear of the masked men).
I've been spending most of my time in the yard during the lockdown, but fortunately on delivery day I was sitting at my kitchen table. Seeing the car in the driveway was enough to make me cry. A masked man jumped out and came toward the house. I waved, motioned to leave the masks on the windowsill and gave him a thumbs up. I imagine he smiled under his mask then ran back to the car delivering good cheer to the rest of the town.
I left the little plastic-wrapped package outside on the windowsill all day. I could read the first few lines of the upsidedown letter from inside the house.
"Dear Citizens,
It's a time of patience and responsibility.
We still can't say with certainty how long all of this will last. It is definitely a difficult period for all of us, no one excluded."
The letter was folded at that point so I couldn't read the rest. I do know that on that day, March 30, masks still weren't mandatory. This was just a goodie bag from Officer Friendly.
On April 14, Italy changed its rules and entered 'lockdown soft'. 51 days after they canceled the conclusion of Carnevale due to the coronavirus they have finally decided that masks are obligatory for everyone... everywhere (except at home).
I hope other countries don't wait for the (finally)-masked-Italian 9 to show up on their doorstep before deciding it's the right time to make masks mandatory. To mask or not to mask? Don't wait until Carnevale 2021 to decide.
In the beginning there was a myriad of mixed messages. When we were told masks were only necessary for doctors we wondered why they worked for doctors and not the rest of us. And then we were told they were only for doctors and infected people. But with a 14-day incubation period there were a lot of infected people seemingly healthy and maskless. That seems like it might have been the right time to say we should all be wearing them.
On March 12, nine Chinese epidemic experts came to help out with the crisis in Italy. Upon arrival they were photographed with the President of the Italian Red Cross. Only one person pictured was maskless (and he wasn't Chinese).
One of the biggest concerns for the Chinese 9 (as I affectionately call them) was that few Italians were wearing masks. That seems like it might have been another good time to make them compulsory. Experts from a country already devastated by the disease are in shock that we're not using masks and we continue not using them.
A few weeks ago companies were required to supply their employees with masks and the employees were required to wear them. But this rule only applied at work. I asked myself why you should protect yourself from your co-workers but not the guy at the gas station.
The last week of March I'd heard that volunteers from the Civil Protection Agency would be delivering masks to each home in the community. It's not the kind of delivery one gets excited about, yet I found myself waiting anxiously (not for the masks, but for fear of the masked men).
I've been spending most of my time in the yard during the lockdown, but fortunately on delivery day I was sitting at my kitchen table. Seeing the car in the driveway was enough to make me cry. A masked man jumped out and came toward the house. I waved, motioned to leave the masks on the windowsill and gave him a thumbs up. I imagine he smiled under his mask then ran back to the car delivering good cheer to the rest of the town.
I left the little plastic-wrapped package outside on the windowsill all day. I could read the first few lines of the upsidedown letter from inside the house.
"Dear Citizens,
It's a time of patience and responsibility.
We still can't say with certainty how long all of this will last. It is definitely a difficult period for all of us, no one excluded."
The letter was folded at that point so I couldn't read the rest. I do know that on that day, March 30, masks still weren't mandatory. This was just a goodie bag from Officer Friendly.
On April 14, Italy changed its rules and entered 'lockdown soft'. 51 days after they canceled the conclusion of Carnevale due to the coronavirus they have finally decided that masks are obligatory for everyone... everywhere (except at home).
I hope other countries don't wait for the (finally)-masked-Italian 9 to show up on their doorstep before deciding it's the right time to make masks mandatory. To mask or not to mask? Don't wait until Carnevale 2021 to decide.
Friday, April 17, 2020
Italy's New "Lockdown Soft"
 |
| The shepherd working His green pastures |
My first scent of the day came as I sat on the front stoop lacing my running shoes. One of the neighboring fields was being treated by the manure spreader. I never plugged my nose when I passed a farm in the US. I actually liked the smell of manure. My brothers used to gag in the backseat of the Plymouth '66, but if it was my turn for the window seat it meant that I controlled the window and it stayed down.
Had I grown up in Italy, the window would have gone up when I passed a farm. Guidebooks leave out the part that Italian manure stinks. The mucche (cows) eat beautiful fields of yellow, white and purple wildflowers, but in the end, everything doesn't come out roses. My neighbor told me there's a law that manure can only be spread in the middle of the night when most people are sleeping. Apparently this farmer thought lockdown soft meant people were sleeping IN.
I left the stoop and passed under my rainbow. It's fading a little, but my hope for peace isn't. I picked a daisy and counted its petals, even though it was no longer necessary. On lockdown when I could only be 200 meters from home, I dropped a petal with every lap to count and pass the time. On lockdown soft, the 200-meter limit has been lifted and replaced with some typical Italian phraseology. Here's a translation of the governor's speech:
"Motor activity is individual, and must be performed in proximity of your home. I have removed the 200 meters, this is an act of great trust. Proximity doesn't mean 4 kilometers. The law says: in proximity."
I wonder if 3.9 kilometers is in proximity.
Even though I could have let freedom ring a little, I hopped my neighbor's fence to return to the security of my Coronavirus Trail. The shepherd had been there the past few days and for some reason I can't get enough of the fact that I run in a field with a shepherd and his sheep. Unfortunatley, instead of finding them, I found the manure-spreading tractor loading up the fields on both sides of my canal.
This forced me to follow the next lockdown soft rule...always wear a mask. I'd had one tucked in my Coronavirus Kit for nearly two months so I pulled it out. Hopefully it will work better for the virus than it did for the manure. My only choice was to run farther than 200 meters.
That's it for how lockdown soft has affected me on Day One. The only real changes in most people's lives are that gloves and masks are obligatory and we don't have to stay within 200 meters of home, but 4 kilometers is out of the question. Another interesting one is if you're out and stopped by the police they'll check your temperature. If it's above 37.5 degrees celcius (99.5 degrees fahrenheit), it's a reato (crime, violation, felony, misdemeanor). It seems my dictionary is as vague as our governor.
As for how far I'll dare stray from home tomorrow, maybe I'll ask the shepherd. He might know what proximity means. He puts an orange fence around his flock and goes home with Lassie for lunch every day (which seems an act of great trust). He has a beard, a staff and sheep. What would HE do?
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
The 100-Mile Coronavirus Challenge
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| My Nike Running Club profile photo |
I was invited to participate by a friend in Chicago. The challenge was to encourage those that could no longer go to their closed gyms to get moving. The goal was to reach 100 miles in the month of April.
I'm not a gym-goer and have never needed a reason to get out the door. I'd been running and walking on lockdown in Italy for nearly a month when the invitation came and my far-from-home adventures had become 200-meter-from-home outings. The idea of the lady on the Nike app reporting mileage from my pocket every now and then sounded like a nice distraction, so I accepted the 100-Mile Challenge.
It wasn't long until I was near the top of the list and with a last name that starts with 'Y', being at the top of a list was new for me. The other participants signed up with their names and cute workout photos and I entered as "Tenley in Italy" and put a photo of my canal in the field. After each workout, the results were updated and your position on the list changed (or didn't).
My goal from the beginning wasn't as much about reaching 100 miles as it was about winning. I had no doubt about completing that mileage in one month (barring unforeseen circumstances). My goal was to do it before everyone else. Until yesterday, that is, when I realized that in the 21 marathons I've run, I'd never once thought about winning. I hated the hecklers that told us after 2 hours and 5 minutes we could stop running because the race had already been won. Marathons are a self-challenge, not something to win and I suddenly felt guilty for wanting to win the Coronavirus Challenge.
I spent the next hundred laps in my 200-meter-field-away-from-home contemplating the difference between competition and challenge. I'd approached the event as a competition instead of a challenge. In English they have different meanings but in Italian they're most often used as synonyms. Maybe I've been living in Italy too long which explains why I attacked the Challenge with such a competitive edge.
I finished 100 miles today, the 14th of April instead of the 30th. (My competitive side wants to whisper (instead of yell) that I started on April 5th.) I'm sure when I head out for my laps tomorrow I'm going to miss the lady in my pocket. I'll continue checking the site and silently rooting on the participants in Chicago because it's a self-challenge and there are 16 more days to complete it.
One thing is embarrassingly worth noting. I've seldom entered a competition I didn't think I could win, which is the sign of a coward, not a victor. I'm sure we'd all rather be winners than losers. But that doesn't mean losers don't deserve a victory lap. A loser deserves a lot more than a coward.
Monday, April 13, 2020
From Italian Literature to Dirty Books
I suppose it was the Pope's idea not to announce the extension of the current coronavirus lockdown in Italy on Easter Day. It wouldn't have been religiously correct. But the current decreto (decree) states that the lockdown lasts until April 13, and that's tomorrow. Talk of the new rules usually starts a few days before the current deadline, but since that's just talk, we wait anxiously for the signing of the official decree. Italians like making rules, changing rules and breaking rules. And all of this involves a lot of time and paperwork.
According to the talk, our lockdown will be extended to May 3. Here's a translation of things that will change on April 14. Bookstores, stationery stores and shops that sell clothes for infants and kids will reopen. Forestry activity, industry involving wood and the production of computers can start back up. Parks and playgrounds remain closed in addition to the cancellation of all sports activities and professional training. Motor activity is still permitted in the vicinity of home, but only alone and maintaining distance.
One of the most made-fun-of items on the last several decrees is something called auto certificazione (self certification). Any time you're not at home, you're required to carry this paper. The form has changed four or five times since the beginning of the lockdown. With each change you're required to have the latest version. And with each new version, comes a new meme.
Our current lockdown says we can't be more than 200 meters from home with the exception of trips to the pharmacy, medical visits, grocery shopping or work. If stopped by the police these activities have to be declared, as does walking alone in a field. The auto certificazione must be signed and given to the officer for later confirmation of the validity of your response. If there's discrepency, you'll be fined.
The selection of shops that have permission to reopen on April 14 has left us somewhat befuddled. No one's talking about the kid's clothing shops being open, after all we're in Italy where fashion comes first. But the reopening of bookstores is getting a lot of press.
Apparently some intellectuals (that's what they say) and booksellers have signed a petition asking for bookstores to reopen. They say that reading books can be like talking to a neighbor and since many on lockdown can't do that, it's time to start reading. That doesn't sound so intellectual to me. Maybe their next petition will say: Why talk to your neighbor when you can read?
Bookstore employees, however, aren't so enthused about the reopening and claim there's no way to clean the coronavirus from a book. But the intellectuals have solved that problem with a new rule. Before going to the bookstore you have to know what you're going to buy. (Maybe it will have to be written on the new auto certificazione before leaving home.)
Opening bookstores means opening cartolibrerie (stationery shops) because in addition to pens and paper, they also sell books, and what's fair for one bookseller is fair for another. Cartolibrerie also sell office supplies and offer UPS, fax and photocopying services.
And we mustn't forget the ribbon cutting ceremonies at grocery stores that can finally cut the tape on their aisles of pens and paper. These aisles have been off limits since the beginning of the lockdown. It took some real intellectuals to decide that if you went to the grocery store you could only buy groceries.
Even though we're still waiting for the official decree, people have already started planning their new lighter lockdown excursions. First, the cartolibreria to make copies of the new auto certificazione because no one is going to work where they can make free copies. Second, the grocery store for some good reading snacks and a pen (because you forgot to pick one up at the cartolibreria and fortunately the pen aisle is now open). And third, a quick trip to the bookshop where book-buying must be efficient. You touch it, you buy it. Unfortunately, in coronavirus times, you have to judge a book by its cover.
According to the talk, our lockdown will be extended to May 3. Here's a translation of things that will change on April 14. Bookstores, stationery stores and shops that sell clothes for infants and kids will reopen. Forestry activity, industry involving wood and the production of computers can start back up. Parks and playgrounds remain closed in addition to the cancellation of all sports activities and professional training. Motor activity is still permitted in the vicinity of home, but only alone and maintaining distance.
One of the most made-fun-of items on the last several decrees is something called auto certificazione (self certification). Any time you're not at home, you're required to carry this paper. The form has changed four or five times since the beginning of the lockdown. With each change you're required to have the latest version. And with each new version, comes a new meme.
Our current lockdown says we can't be more than 200 meters from home with the exception of trips to the pharmacy, medical visits, grocery shopping or work. If stopped by the police these activities have to be declared, as does walking alone in a field. The auto certificazione must be signed and given to the officer for later confirmation of the validity of your response. If there's discrepency, you'll be fined.
The selection of shops that have permission to reopen on April 14 has left us somewhat befuddled. No one's talking about the kid's clothing shops being open, after all we're in Italy where fashion comes first. But the reopening of bookstores is getting a lot of press.
Apparently some intellectuals (that's what they say) and booksellers have signed a petition asking for bookstores to reopen. They say that reading books can be like talking to a neighbor and since many on lockdown can't do that, it's time to start reading. That doesn't sound so intellectual to me. Maybe their next petition will say: Why talk to your neighbor when you can read?
Bookstore employees, however, aren't so enthused about the reopening and claim there's no way to clean the coronavirus from a book. But the intellectuals have solved that problem with a new rule. Before going to the bookstore you have to know what you're going to buy. (Maybe it will have to be written on the new auto certificazione before leaving home.)
Opening bookstores means opening cartolibrerie (stationery shops) because in addition to pens and paper, they also sell books, and what's fair for one bookseller is fair for another. Cartolibrerie also sell office supplies and offer UPS, fax and photocopying services.
And we mustn't forget the ribbon cutting ceremonies at grocery stores that can finally cut the tape on their aisles of pens and paper. These aisles have been off limits since the beginning of the lockdown. It took some real intellectuals to decide that if you went to the grocery store you could only buy groceries.
Even though we're still waiting for the official decree, people have already started planning their new lighter lockdown excursions. First, the cartolibreria to make copies of the new auto certificazione because no one is going to work where they can make free copies. Second, the grocery store for some good reading snacks and a pen (because you forgot to pick one up at the cartolibreria and fortunately the pen aisle is now open). And third, a quick trip to the bookshop where book-buying must be efficient. You touch it, you buy it. Unfortunately, in coronavirus times, you have to judge a book by its cover.
Friday, April 10, 2020
How Was Your Lockdown?
If wireless lie detectors exist, I think it's time they become available as an app. Turn it on as you approach someone, ask the obligatory question, and find out if they really are fine.
I've hated (and periodically refused) saying HOW ARE YOU since I was a child. I asked my mom why people asked the question since no one cared about the answer anyway. I told her I was going to start responding that I was sad because my grandpa had died just to see if they'd react. I was sure I'd find that some didn't even listen to an irresistible chubby kid with ringlets.
The fact that the expression is taught on the first day of ESL (English as a Second Language) classes proves its ridiculousness. You can show the class a ball and teach the students BALL. And you can wave to teach HELLO. But at the first lesson you can't explain HOW ARE YOU to a class unless you know how to say it in Arabic, Somalian, Ethiopian and Bhutanese. You're left to act out a small scene with a smile (also teachable), a wave and a friendly HELLO. But the teacher's manual throws in HOW ARE YOU and I'M FINE with no real explanation, simply because that's what comes next. I don't think any refugee on their second day in America is really fine.
Guidebooks teach it, parents teach it and teachers teach it and I think it's a bad lesson. It makes those of us that don't ask seem impolite. And those of us that answer how we really are seem extreme. We should form a club and wear a special pin that says, "Don't ask unless you really care." But I suppose no one would take too kindly to that either. There's no place for the realists.
On the 34th day of Italy's lockdown I realized that people have been taking the question more seriously lately. They show real concern and ask with sincerity. And they finally listen to the answer. If I had the special pin I wouldn't wear it on lockdown. I'd be happy to ask and happy to be asked.
I'm sure the first week of liberty from lockdown will be just like the first week after summer vacation and Christmas break. People don't ask how you are, they ask what you did. And they're no more interested in your vacation than how you were before you left.
The second week after lockdown when we return to HOW ARE YOUS and I'M FINES, I predict a lot of folks won't really be fine. And for those that have the courage to answer truthfully, will the askers take time to listen? Guidebooks, parents and teachers didn't prepare us for what comes next.
Seeing that I went into lockdown two weeks earlier than everyone else, I think I'll come out two weeks later. Maybe that'll save me from HOW WAS YOUR LOCKDOWN. By that time everyone will be tired of the obligatory question and I'll just sneak into the bar (cafe') with my pin, lie detector app and an open ear.
I've hated (and periodically refused) saying HOW ARE YOU since I was a child. I asked my mom why people asked the question since no one cared about the answer anyway. I told her I was going to start responding that I was sad because my grandpa had died just to see if they'd react. I was sure I'd find that some didn't even listen to an irresistible chubby kid with ringlets.
The fact that the expression is taught on the first day of ESL (English as a Second Language) classes proves its ridiculousness. You can show the class a ball and teach the students BALL. And you can wave to teach HELLO. But at the first lesson you can't explain HOW ARE YOU to a class unless you know how to say it in Arabic, Somalian, Ethiopian and Bhutanese. You're left to act out a small scene with a smile (also teachable), a wave and a friendly HELLO. But the teacher's manual throws in HOW ARE YOU and I'M FINE with no real explanation, simply because that's what comes next. I don't think any refugee on their second day in America is really fine.
Guidebooks teach it, parents teach it and teachers teach it and I think it's a bad lesson. It makes those of us that don't ask seem impolite. And those of us that answer how we really are seem extreme. We should form a club and wear a special pin that says, "Don't ask unless you really care." But I suppose no one would take too kindly to that either. There's no place for the realists.
On the 34th day of Italy's lockdown I realized that people have been taking the question more seriously lately. They show real concern and ask with sincerity. And they finally listen to the answer. If I had the special pin I wouldn't wear it on lockdown. I'd be happy to ask and happy to be asked.
I'm sure the first week of liberty from lockdown will be just like the first week after summer vacation and Christmas break. People don't ask how you are, they ask what you did. And they're no more interested in your vacation than how you were before you left.
The second week after lockdown when we return to HOW ARE YOUS and I'M FINES, I predict a lot of folks won't really be fine. And for those that have the courage to answer truthfully, will the askers take time to listen? Guidebooks, parents and teachers didn't prepare us for what comes next.
Seeing that I went into lockdown two weeks earlier than everyone else, I think I'll come out two weeks later. Maybe that'll save me from HOW WAS YOUR LOCKDOWN. By that time everyone will be tired of the obligatory question and I'll just sneak into the bar (cafe') with my pin, lie detector app and an open ear.
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