Italy v. Texas
Joanne Faries
Linda and Cecil greeted us at the door, “We’re eager to see the pictures and hear your tales.” They handed us wine glasses and we proceeded to the family room. The aroma of garlic and Italian herbs filled the air. We sopped bread in flavored oils, and regaled them with our September.
I began, “Italy was beyond heavenly. Blue skies every morning, except in Assisi – misty rains and a wreath of clouds encircled the mountain church. It added to the mysticism, and the Latin chant during mass wafted over the town.”
Ray chimed in, “All I heard was Spanish as the pool guys re-plastered the pool. A fine white powder hung in the air as they chiseled off the old fractured covering.”
“Our driver, Salvo, eased our bus through the twists and turns of the Amalfi Coast, and later the winding narrow streets of Como. Motor scooters weaved around him, but he managed to squeeze into miraculous spots.”
“An eighteen-wheeler and trash truck decided to collide at 635 and Luna during rush hour. Cops squeezed us to one lane, and then stopped directing traffic. It was a miracle the ambulance could maneuver into place and help those injured souls.”
“Fresco after fresco in every church, piazza, nook and cranny featured angels and tortured souls fleeing hell for heaven. The restoration of the Sistine Chapel – oh, I’d have fallen to my knees if not for the crowds. The colors gleamed.”
“Stood looking at paint swatches at Lowe’s two Saturdays ago. How many shades of white can there be? Since our sink leak flood on Labor Day weekend, I coordinated flooring and paint contractors. Cookie Crumb – that was my off-white selection.”
“Cannoli pastry crumbled in my mouth and the gelato…ice cream will never be the same for me. Fresh, rich, and creamy – gelato played an opera on my tongue – opening chords, a full blown aria of fruit flavors (I loved the mixed berry), and a final crescendo of joy as I swallowed.”
“Worst pizza ever during the Cowboy game. Delivery ran late, sauce was stone cold, and my toppings were wrong. I flicked green peppers for an hour.”
Cecil interrupted to ask Linda, “Is dinner ready, dear?” I continued the power point slide show. Gondolas glided through Venice. The tower in Pisa leaned.
“Italian pizza, paper thin and tomato sauce blended with garden ingredients. A true art form.”
“I’ve got Art coming over next week to install the door to the garage. Cash deal.”
Linda cleared dessert plates. Cecil yawned. “Glad you two could visit and happy anniversary.”
“Twenty five years, and I spent it in Italy,” I laughed. “Grazie for dinner.”
“Thanks, y’all.”

First published: November, 2014
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