Mamma greeted us outside of their apartment building, waiting eagerly. “Miei bambini! Un c'e fresca e l'altro c'e rotto.” My children. One is fresh and the other is broken. Guess which one is freshfaced? That'd be me. Is it wrong that I feel a sibling rivalry with someone who isn't really a sibling? I have to dissect this problem on my own.
Mass over, we walked back to the house and Marco & I fixed breakfast. Fruit, yogurt, toast and cornetti, coffees for Mamma and me. We ate, made sure she took her pills and he went off to sleep. I told her I would return in two hours at noon. I needed to get my bag from the hotel, wash a load of laundry and hang it in my studio, then I would be back with groceries. Soup for lunch and then stuffed meatballs for dinner with pasta. Ok? Kisses on the cheek and thank yous trailed me out the door.
Errands complete, I returned to Giudecca. She presented me with a set of house keys so I don't have to ring the bell. I'll take them, but I will still ring the bell. I am not coming and going at their house unannounced, especially if Marco is at home. Don't need to surprise him and make a situation weird or uncomfortable. However, they have a set of keys to the apartment I'm in, just in case of emergency. But it does her good to get up and answer the door. That's exercise, right?
We're having minestrone for lunch, and toasted panini with coldcuts and scamorza cheese, a smoked mozzarella. I love scamorza. I had also started on the sauce for dinner tonight. The smell woke Mister Man, because he came groggily out to the kitchen around 2 and sat down at the table. I told him he'd better make it himself, his arms aren't broken. Big brown puppy eyes batted in my direction, but doesn't work with me. Dude, you are 44 years old, you can dish up a bowl of soup and make a sandwich for yourself. My hub-unit is at home fending for himself and he can do it. Mamma asked what we were talking about, since I was chastising him in English. He just laughed and told her “she is reminding me why I can never marry an independent American woman.” More like marry ANY woman, I corrected. Who puts up with this crap? Mamma does.
He fended for himself and even did all the dishes then went back to bed for a few hours. Mamma and I went to church again. This is her thing, not mine, but I am happy to accompany her. It makes her happy to go to services more than once a day and it takes the responsibility off her son of escorting her, so he gets as much sleep as possible. I'm okay with that. I don't mind going to Mass. I like the singing and I tune out the homily, whether in Italy or in the US. I escort her up for communion, refuse it for myself, and walk her back.
The house smelled amazing. I could have taken a loaf of bread and just sat there dipping it into the sauce for my dinner, and I could see that some of the bread had been broken off already. Marco had been up obviously and had to do a taste test. He may make fun of my non-Italian ways of putting a meal together, like not putting the “right” pasta with the “correct” meat or veg, or my love of making one-pot meals, but one thing he never makes fun of are my soups or sauces. This girl can put a pot together that tastes good. Besides, when he starts actually cooking from scratch then I will start to take his criticisms with more validity. Armchair cooking is not a respectable vocation.
A couple more hours until dinner, so Mamma and I watched a movie on tv, some piece of nonsense. I don't like this particular brand of Italian comedy. I've watched a few films with this comedians. These three guys are an Italian institution but they are buffoons. I guess I'm just not a fan of farce. In the middle of it Marco wandered out, and started his day after a good “night's” sleep. I remember graveyard shift, so I completely understand what it's like to wake up in the middle of the afternoon to a house full of people and your internal clock is opposite from them all.
We dished up and had a great meal. Mamma relayed in detail to her son what the homily was, even though it was the same one from the morning service. He probably wasn't paying attention, just like I wasn't. Mamma asked me about my next tour, what were the people going to be like? I have no idea about that but I could tell her how many there were and where they are from. I will meet them in the afternoon at the airport. Marco did the dishes again – there's hope for him yet. There was enough left for another meal for the two of them tomorrow so I squared it away in the fridge for them to reheat at a later time.
I gathered my things and gave Mamma kisses goodbye, told her I'd call her every morning to check on her and I'd see her ten days. Lots of hugs from her. Marco & I left to catch the boat, him to work and me to pack my things back up. On the boat he handed me some cash for the groceries. I told him it wasn't necessary but he insisted. “You are so good to her. You spend your one day off cooking for us and taking care of her. I do not have the words to thank you all the time.” That's okay, I'm just glad I can help. Hand squeeze, peck on the forehead. And he was off to work.
In the morning I would be too.
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