9/03/11 Shade Among Fields of Lavender

After a quick civil ceremony at the local municipal buildings the formalities of the union had been dealt with.  The reception was being held at an old farm that had been converted to agritourism.   The heat of the beating sun was relentless and I took cover under a cherry tree, its fruit long since consumed by the owners or picked over by birds.  Yet another cold glass of prosecco brought brief comfort…it was quickly followed by a third.  Good thing the glasses were small since I was already half drunk on the heavy scent of lavender wafting in from the nearby field.

Some of the young boys had taken off their shirts; a double shot of protest, so to speak.  In one way they took a stand against the summer sun, its heat would not break them; in another, they took a stand against their parents who had tried to dress them up like little men.  Whatever the reason, I was jealous.  I would have joined them were it not for the fear of the Italian equivalent of “No shit, no shoes, no service”.  After all, like always, I was hungry.

  

The perfect setting for a long lazy afternoon and evening

In true Italian style, the reception was a stuttered affair; it had a schedule somewhere in the background, but it was too faint to take hold.  The courses on the menu were, in some cases, separated by more than an hour.  Normally, something like this would drive me crazy since back home you’re usually stuck at some boring hall plopped down in the middle of an industrial complex.  The scenery and the vibe here made the waiting not only bearable, but enjoyable.  What kind of person could find issue with taking a break from dinner to have a wine and cheese party on the grass?  The answer: an old one.

Dad cracks a smile; blame it on mom's southern influence.
Meanwhile, the two pure Northerners remain unimpressed.



Allow me to remind you that I was in the North of Italy where the older generation is known for being quite rigid.  In response to the question of “How do you know when you’re old?” my cousin Claudio came up with the simple and accurate measure of: “you start looking for the exit at 9:00”.  Claudio’s definition attempted to be elegant since it connected “old” with behaviour rather than age; perhaps it was an attempt to suggest that if one keeps a youthful outlook they can avoid the trap of “old”.  Unfortunately for Claudio, elegance was not to be as many of the older folks began to stir.  Miraculously, my zias Maria and Rosa managed to wait it out for a slice of cake which was served outside in the courtyard.  Zia Maria, who isn’t known for her soft approach, didn’t like the casual manner in which the dessert was served - outside in open air with no table in front of the many benches.  “Chi siamo noi?  Poveri disperati? (Who are we?  The poor and desperate?)”  I can still hear the words, spoken in her voice and cadence.  She wondered where she would put her plate when coffee was served; the rest of us howled with laughter and had another glass of prosecco.