Trofie Wife admits that she was still dozing at 9:35 a.m. when she received a much-awaited call from the canile (dog kennel!) organizer, who said that she will hopefully be able to arrange for me to visit the kennel (and hopefully begin volunteering) by the end of the month. Trofie Wife is a bit concerned about her credentials vis-à-vis this post, since the caller asked a few times as to whether or not I had ever owned a dog, perhaps a requirement for working with the pooches (if this doesn’t work out, it’s just one more dog (or lack thereof) -related life trauma that can be attributed to my mother…).
Much like back home, the Christmas season is upon us, except in
On my way to the grocery store, I came across the sad event of a funeral at the (non-pilgrim attracting) church. Incidentally, I noticed that on the telephone booth adjacent to the church, there is an ad for the town’s major funeral home. Now this phone booth just happens to be located not only near the church, but across the street from what I believe to be the most dangerous intersection in town (and if there’s a worse one, I don’t want to find it) — it’s blind in both directions (due to a hill on one side and a curve on the other) and there is no light or stop sign (actually, I don’t think “Stop” signs exist in Italy—just lights on major boulevards). A curious discovery, this sign. Since I can’t understand the Italian, the copy might very well read: “Hit an unlucky pedestrian? We do pick-ups! Just, please, no calls between and ” (Apologies if the lunch jokes are getting old, but as a dedicated eat-at-my-desker, I just can’t get over this way of life!)
Baci e gelato,
Martello e Trofie Wife