From the moment Paul and I stepped foot in Firenze, I felt embraced…..enfolded in a familiar warmth ( it was July, I concede), a cloud of magnificent culinary smells, spicy and tomato-ey red (or was that my imagination?), and definitely a sense that I somehow had a place in the city’s magnificent history.
I was soothed by how immediately at ease I felt. The city, the people, the air did not feel strange to me, but rather it caressed me , so that I felt like I had arrived home….and that something good was cooking in la cuccina!
My mouth watered.
So much of my beloved quattrocento art to see, in person!
So much pasta to devour!
To prepare , I’d been diligently studying Italian, could pronounce it well, but still could not read or really speak it. I knew that would only come with practice.
Gratefully, we’d booked a 10–day stay at La Pensione California, and my business-like communications with Signora Amara Vitti promised the practice I would need. The moment she hugged us welcome to her cushion-y three story home, I once again felt that puzzling embrace I’d felt when I stepped off the train. Easy.
Familiar.
Famiglia.
As Paul registered us in Signora Vitti’s well-worn Guest Book, I looked out the 2nd story window and saw, in the courtyard below , a table filled with bowls of bright red tomatoes , basking in the sunshine, and two kerchiefed women fussing over each fruit with conversation and laughter. I felt like i had stepped into a 1950’s colorized Italian film, and expected Sophia Loren to arrive at any moment.
Then, to deepen the connection I already felt, Signora Vitti put both her hands on my shoulders and asked “Ebrea?”…” You’re Jewish?”…How did she know?
“Si”, my simple “yes” , sufficed to make me Signora’s best pal for the 10 days we were under her care.
For, as it turned out, her dearest son was married to a Connecticut Jewish woman and their two bi-lingual children were in Italy, spending the week with their beloved Italian “nonna”…Angela , 8 years old, and David, six…so that the children’s voices I heard playing down the hall, in both Italian and English , were those two grandkids . Signora Vitti loved them more than anything on earth, I soon understood, and so, I became her substitute daughter-in-law for a while. The substitute Momma-in-charge, along with the ever-loving Grandma. Her son and his wife were on holiday on the Amalfi Coast, while the kids were resident Florentines for the month, and I got to spend their last fun week with them.
Angela and David and I became friends fast and deep.
They helped me with my Italian.
I bought them lots of ice cream.
So, as we explored the streets surrounding Il Duomo, visiting the statue of Michelangelo’s David (a much older version of my little 6-year old friend who was fascinated by all the nakedness, and took it quite in stride…very worldly little fella) my ability to read Italian signage improved, and we didn’t get lost too much. I even bought a small paperback mystery, in Italian, to dive into at night, as Paul and I snuggled into our cozy pensioné digs.
The kids left for Connecticut, Signora Vitti continued to ask my advice on what she should cook every night for dinner, while I lazed on the flowery, sunny terrace , laid low by painful menstrual cramps, and watched the sparrows and starlings flit across the perfect Italian sky.
My rental Mother-In-Law plied me with delicious iced teas and, while Paul explored the Pitti Palace without me, my Italian lessons proceeded a pace….the sun, the iced tea, the warmth of Amara’s presence and Italy.
Ah!
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