Pour me a glass

In the past two weeks, much has changed in my life. Still in Italy, the news grapevine is a long one. Being so far away from my daily grind alienates me from what's happening at home, but not always for the worst. I've learned my mother's godmother has recently passed, my brother is today a freer man, and I have been freed from my binds as well. I am beginning to pluck the grapes off the vine to make celebratory wine for all the good things in life. I have been surrounded by intelligent, interesting people this summer and have expanded my mind. I know I have more to achieve and have every tool to do so.

With all that, I must say nothing beats a homemade meal in an Italian piazza with friends, strangers, men in tights with drums, fire and scrolls. Here in Amelia, the locals embrace their history with proud hands and buckets of wine. What place on earth do you know of where teenage boys willingly wear tights and dress up in medieval garb to march around town playing drums and throwing flags? Amelia. That's where. We're gearing up for the Palio di Colombi (Race of the Doves) and it's been a medieval party for the past two weeks. On Sunday, the whole town will go watch the five contradas (neighborhoods) race their horses, joust, and the first crossbowman to hit a target and release the doves wins the Palio for his contrada. I get fitted for my costume tonight.

Sitting in that piazza, surrounded by four generations of these families and my classmates and teachers reminded me how small a world it is. We all, regardless of age or language, love good food, good company, and plenty of wine.

I'm not sure exactly what we ate, but you don't question such things when an Italian woman with a face that could tell you the stories of the world puts a plate in front of you. You say grazie and dig in. In between bites, be grateful for the sound of laughter, the cheers and chants of the young men of the neighborhood, and the seconds and thirds that are put on your plate from over your shoulder as you say something to your friends.

I was sitting at a table with a well known lawyer from NY who had previously given a lecture on restitution and we all just chatted. It was like dinner after an Open Studio in my previous life, but better. We shared stories and poked good humored fun at each other until the sensible people decided it was time to go home. The rest of us drank more wine and stayed up longer, are now very sleepy, but we were trying to hold on to those moments that were quickly floating off on clouds of cigarette smoke.

The moral of this story is enjoy the little things. The little things appear everywhere. Treasure these as these memories will always come back to you when you hear a song or smell home cooked food or catch a whiff of an oh-so-familiar perfume. They'll reappear when you least expect it and it's always better to remember with a smirk than a snarl.