A post with very little organization, but at least it's something

Things I see/hear during my days that make me smile:

1. On the way to work, after dropping Nora off at school, I cross the Tiber on Ponte Garibaldi. I should back up a bit. There's a lot of graffiti in Rome. Some people actually cite graffiti as one of the reasons why they don't like Rome--it's dirty; there's graffiti, etc. Personally, I think it's useful. When the shops close at night, they pull down a big metal door that covers the door, windows, and often the sign of the building--effectively erasing all of the features I use as landmarks for direction. For example, I used to know to turn left at the window with button-down oxford shirts and that alley will lead me to the Campo de' Fiori. At night--no window. No shirts. I'm lost. Now I use the graffiti, and I turn left at Te amo, Sofia. Very useful. Anyway...I don't know what any of the graffiti says because I've never been good at making sense of labyrinthine letters, especially if they're in a foreign language. But there's this one tag on Ponte Garibaldi (this is where I started the story) that makes me smile. I've forgotten to take a picture of it, but maybe a description will be enough. The tag is in red and it says "Mommy." Such an ironic, vulnerable word to see painted by some (I picture) ruffian on a bridge. And I guess the ruffian thought it was a little too vulnerable too, so instead of a normal "y," he gave it a forked trident. Like the devil's. Making mom's all over gush.

2. I just finished teaching a 3-week English course for some architecture students. (I'll talk more about that later.) Their school was located on Via Cavour. As I said, the course is finished, so I don't walk home on Via Cavour anymore, so I don't see this next thing every day anymore, and again, I haven't taken a picture of it, but hopefully the following description will help. I'm walking along on the way to class, looking in shop windows as I go. Fashion is great in Rome, and window shopping is something I do often. Anyway...looking in windows...pet store, underwear store, men's suit store, and then the hugest shoes I've ever seen in my life store. "Those are big shoes," I think to myself as I step back on the sidewalk to glance at the name. "Big Shoes" the sign says. Why does this make me smile? I can't quite say. Apparently I find humor in irony and obviousness. Why is the sign in English? I don't know that either. Apparently, though, business is booming for Louis, owner of Big Shoes, and he's taken his enormous shoes to the wold wide web:

3. My office is located above the Campo de' Fiori. Every day in the Campo there's a market. Not a cheap market, but a market. For some reason there are many Americans in and around this area of Rome, hence the overpriced produce. The market is not without its merits, however. It's alive every morning with the most colorful fruits, veggies, flowers and people around.

One man has a stall that sells spices. Every day he has to pour his spices from large bags into smaller containers. This makes him sneeze, and his sneezes are even louder than my Papa's once were. (For Non-Windham's read: Louder than anyone who has ever lived. Ever.) And he doesn't sneeze once. He sneezes four, five, six times in succession. With every jarring sneeze, cheers erupt from the other stall owners, and so it goes for the spice pouring process.

The crowd also yells in unison when someone is blocking traffic (because small cars and silent buses(!) can drive through the sides of the market), when something falls and creates a loud racket, when someone does something funny, or for no reason whatsoever. Perhaps if I understood the language I could give better explanations for the nonsensical yelling, but I enjoy the morning chaos as it is. For a while I thought that the stall owners just put on a good show. To give the tourists what they pay for. But the more markets I see and stories I hear, I think that this is the way of the Italians. Loud, entertaining, and willing to make the most out of every situation.

Another group exists in the Campo. These people don't come out until after the market is closed. NB: What follows does not belong in the category of Things that Make Me Smile. This tirade would be better suited for the I'd Rather Poke Myself in the Eye with a Hot Poker Than...column, but I haven't started that one yet. So... I'd rather poke myself in the eye with a hot poker than listen to the musicians of the Campo de' Fiori for another day. Promptly after the market is closed, out they come. Accordians, violins, cellos, harpsichords, singers. Many types of instruments. One playlist. Volare. Somewhere Over the Rainbow. My Way. I'm sure that these people have done loads of market research, and this research has conclusively told them that if you want to squeeze money out of the tourists, My Way and Somewhere Over the Rainbow are the way to go. SO...I'm begging you, American Tourists, demand a change. They won't listen to me if you keep oohing and aahing and dancing and singing and paying and ENJOYING THIS MUSIC THAT THEY PLAY REPEATEDLY EVERY DAY RAIN OR SHINE DIRECTLY BELOW MY WINDOW. please. Maybe request a Beatles tune. Or Brown Eyed Girl. Every American tourist likes that. Right?

And now some pictures.

I get to go on great field trips with my job. This is a picture from an old Greek temple (yes, Greek. In Italy. It's that old.) in Paestum. Very little restoration work was done to this temple at all. It's just been standing there in a field for thousands of years.





I like to include pictures of Fernet whenever I can. This picture is on the side of the Antico Caffe del Moro, a cafe in Trastevere near our house. I like to call it "Civilizing the natives. One shot of Fernet at a time."






YAY!!! We got a new bird!!
Boo--They must have forgotten to snip
his wings.
His name is Roamy. Or maybe Romy or Rome-y. I'll have to ask Nora. Here he is at the top of our window, making it very difficult to get him back into the cage. Does anyone know how to snip a bird's wings? (I'm looking at you, Swanky.)







Honestly, who can not like graffiti like this?






Sometimes we wear out our dear little Nora. Here she is after walking to the top of the Aventine hill. (It's not really that big.)







Jugs of wine as large as my daughter for a fraction of the cost.



More later. Love you all.