I see two enormous bouquets of flowers have already arrived from the school staff and students where Marta teaches.
She and I have done this before. Marta introduces me as American, but doesn't mention I can speak and understand Italian.
I'm certainly not fluent, but I feel comfortable not having my dictionary nearby at all times.
The class of 15-17 year olds was a bit unruly when I walked in. I could read why in their faces. Does anyone enjoy talking haltingly in another language? It's not easy to take a chance and risk looking foolish.
I understand their reluctance. Classmates might laugh at you now and then tease you later. My name is.... It makes one feel so powerless to speak with the words of small child.
The students and I began by trading the normal questions.
Questions to me: Where do you live? Do you know Orange County? Do you live near the beach? What work do you do? Do you know any movie stars? When did you arrive in Italy? Where is Prof getting married? (no answer to that one!)
Questions to them: How much does a loaf of bread cost here? How much does a haircut cost? What are you studying? What is your name? Where do you live?
The group quieted down considerably. I complemented them on their English skills and their bravery in speaking. They quickly said to Marta in Italian: "Did you hear that? Can I have a higher grade?"
After 40 minutes of questions, we all took a break. I told them I would tell them something special when they returned.
Ten minutes later, they were back and ready to hear the secret. I started by speaking right to them, in Italian. They responded laughingly with "Ma dai!!! (Come on!!) Why did we need to struggle?"
I recounted some stories about my personal life and past work profession, which had been quite unique and unbelievable. The room went quiet. They moved in closer to me and were anxious to know more. The awkwardness was gone. It was an afternoon for us to remember.
Time spent with students is always a highlight of my visits. It's possible for strangers to meet and in some small way alter each other's lives, just a bit. Fabio Volo states it perfectly his novel, "Il Giorno in Piu'":
"A volte le persone sono solo delle porte, dei passaggi. Tu per me, io per te. Anche gli sconosciuti, ogni incontro e' una porta."
"At times, people are just doors or passages.... Every encounter with a stranger, is a door."
One must be ready to see the doors and have the courage to take a chance to walk through them.
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Today, Friday is Marta's last day at work for the spring session. As soon as she returned home from school, she and I walked to the town center to find just the right shade of eye shadow. She carried a small fabric swatch. The wedding dress color has been a guarded secret but now I see it! Wow...it's fabulous and 'one of a kind' for sure!
She did not like the white or ecru dresses and instead choose a color she wanted. I hugged her and told her I am so proud of her. This is their day and she has planned it well.
I asked her if she had packed yet for the honeymoon? "I have no time today...tomorrow I'll do it." Hummm...tomorrow is the wedding day I silently note.
Around lunchtime, Marta had first hair appointment. She returned home with her head covered in tight little curled rolls of hair. This appointment begins her separation from Mario. Once she visits the hair dresser, Mario cannot see her until 4.30 Saturday, when she walks down the aisle toward him. For the rest of today, they only talk to each other by phone.
Rosa and Enriche will be Marta's Testimoni (witnesses), just as Marta and I were for Rosa. After lunch, Enriche was busy ironing her dress. With that done, she and I walked to the train station and caught the 2 pm train to Castleleone, where Rosa would be waiting for us with the car.
Our first responsibility today, is to drive to Crema to pick up the wedding dress.
Arriving, we were buzzed through a tall iron electric gate. The back door opened and were welcomed into the work area of a dress making shop.
Outside, I had just snapped a picture. Rosa whispered to me, no pictures inside Zia.
Rosa: "We're here to pick up Marta's dress."
The woman looks at us with an unsure expression.
Saleswoman: "Who are you?"
Rosa: "I'm Marta's sister."
Me: "I'm her aunt."
An expression of distrust appeared on the woman's face.
Rosa: "The wedding is tomorrow and we're here to take the dress."
The woman was not giving any indication she believed us.
Me: "The wedding dress is violet colored!"
The woman still tightly clutched the dress, enclosed in its protective white cover. It looked like she was not going to let us take it. We had no receipt.
Suddenly an brilliant idea from Rosa! "Zia...you have a picture?"
Me: "Yes, I have a picture of Marta right here, taken this morning buying eye shadow." (Fabric swatch in hand, thank goodness.)
Me: "Eccola! (Here it is!)
My constant picture taking has done some real good! I've wanted to capture both the preparation and the wedding in my camera for Marta, as just as I did for Rosa last year.
Satisfied with our proof, the woman unzipped the cover and we all looked in to see the luscious color. We thanked her and carried the dress out to the car. Enriche, in the back seat, gently held it and we quickly took off, chattering about our close call. Zia to the rescue with a photo, of all things. Meno male!! (Thank goodness!!)
We drove straight home, not making a single stop. Marina was already waiting at the front gate as we pulled in. She took the dress from us and carried it into the house, where it was hung in Rosa's laundry room.
Rosa tells me the color is so secret not even her own husband Mattia knows.
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Wedding Rings
A little later, still Friday afternoon, Rosa and I walked into the city center, to perform our second important responsibility. In this part of Italy, the sister of the bride picks up both rings at the gioielleria (jewelry shop) for gli sposi (the bridal couple). I'm not sure if the sister pays for them.
Last year, Marta and I did this same honor for Rosa and Mattia's wedding.
On her left hand, Marta has been wearing a lovely engagement ring for the past year. The ring is a five bezel setting, with five large diamonds. Rosa did not wear an engagement ring, so I'm not sure what type of rings we're picking up today.
We arrive at the store and as usual, the shop front door is locked. There are no guards here, but the entry is similar to that of an Italian bank. We ring the bell and the first door is unlocked. One enters and stands for a few moments in a Plexiglas holding booth, while the street door closes and re-locks. Only then, does the inside door click open and we are allowed to enter the shop.
The lady behind the counter recognizes both Rosa and me with a happy look. Last year, after I pleaded for permission, this nice woman allowed me to take a picture of Marta, holding Rosa and Mattia's wedding bands. Today, I have my camera ready and I'm relieved to see she gives no indication there will be an issue this time.
But, there's a bigger problem! The rings are not ready. Not to worry she tells us. The rings have been engraved, but they haven't arrived at the shop. She makes a phone call. With a reassuring smile, she asks us to come back tomorrow, Saturday. The rings will be here for sure in the early morning.
EEK...tomorrow is the wedding day I silently cry. I pulled back my emotions, not wanting to unleash my innate American reaction of PANIC.
Rosa and I calmly retreated back through the two locked doors, and did not show our concern to each other until we were well out of range of the shop's windows.
Me: Oh NO! What do we do without rings? Do we need a backup plan?
Rosa: Stai tranquilla, Zia. Don't worry, Zia, it will be ok. Often, things get done here at the last minute.
Me: But Rosa, tomorrow is the wedding.
Rosa: Don't worry, it will be ok. This is Italy.
We headed for home.
This morning, during Marta's hair appointment, I think she entered into an enchanted state of mind. She was with us, but sort of floating about, her eyes gazing inwardly. She would look startled when reality descended, as it did with our entrance, empty-handed into the house.
Marta: "May I have the rings?"
Rosa: "They're not ready"
Marta: "Don't joke around with me!"
Rosa: "I'm not..."
Marta: .....silence
Rosa: "We need to go back tomorrow morning at 9.30."
I stood silently to the side of both girls and tried very hard to not inject any more worrying into the situation. I knew for sure, no picture taking at this moment.
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My impromptu emergency hair appointment
Friday afternoon, a little later, Rosa, Enriche and I are out running errands. Rosa's phone rings and when she hangs up, she turns to me and says: "Zia, we have a little problem." Apparently, someone has just realized that I am expecting to have a hair cut at my salon appointment tomorrow at noon. But the appointment, was made only for a wedding styling, cannot be changed or cancelled.
Rosa tells me she knows a walk-in place which will take me right now. It's almost 5 o'clock, on a Friday night. But time passes at a different pace in Italy! We still have 3 more hours until the shops close tonight at 8 pm.
Enriche, leaves us to do some shopping. Rosa, quickly walks me along a shortcut to the parrucchiere. She makes a few comments to the attendent and I'm on my own.
No English spoken here, but I manage, without my dictionary. Luckily I've been practicing my words concerning haircuts: Paura (fear), aggitata (nervous), no layers per favore (no layers, please), non mi piacciono i capelli corti (I don't like short hair), va bene? (ok?).
I was helped into a robe and escorted to the shampoo station. In Italy, the stylist never does the hair washing nor the inital blow-dry.
A male attendent washed my hair and massaged my scalp. I felt the tension leaving my shoulders. That done, I waited in another chair for Paolo, the young, co-owner of the shop.
The attendant repeated all my concerns to Paolo. Happily, I had been understood, perfectly.
Paolo reminded me of Edward ScissorHands, the way his hands flew around my head. In the end, the cut was perfect. I would trust him again with my hair.
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Marina and Primo are ready to take the school's flowers to the church. Marina asks if I would like to go and take pictures. Of course, I jump at the opportunity and within moments I'm following them out the door. I snap pictures on the stairs, in the courtyard, out the gate, down the street, on the steps of the church and finally, inside.
Marina asks me to take pictures. Relaxed in their jeans and cotton shirts, they look adorable and loving.
Marina and Primo are still happily in love and to their credit, they have sucessfully raised two wonderful young women, Rosa and Marta.
They have fully accepted Enriche, me and their other foreign daughters right into their hearts. Tomorrow, a new day starts for all of us.
I retrieved a ribbon from one of the bouquets and late Friday night, I secretly tied it onto Marta's armoire.
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