Lost in translation ..... (again)

Saw this at the airport ages ago.

(Reflexive verbs are more common in Italian than in English)   J

Tying the knot

A week after the serenade I walked round to the front of my neighbours’ villa (camera at the ready) to watch their lovely daughter leave for the church.  Although I know a serenade is more of a custom from southern Italy, I had completely forgotten another custom that southern Italians often follow when a bride leaves the house.  That of cutting the ribbon.  In the UK we often see ribbon cutting ceremonies on the News on T.V. when buildings or bridges are opened, but in some parts of Italy there is a ribbon cutting at weddings too.  Most of the view from the road where I stood was taken up with a large white Rolls Royce parked centrally on the drive.  I couldn’t see anyone I knew among the people milling around.  However the bride’s father happened to see me, and gestured that I should come into the garden where he offered me a drink from a nearby table before disappearing inside the house.  Looking around I saw two lovely flower arrangements

on either side of the front steps and noticed a ribbon draped across one of them.  That’s when the penny dropped!   I was so pleased I would be able to see the little ceremony take place!  Two tiny angelic bridesmaids appeared and were told to stand by the flower arrangements with the ribbon in their hands. The ribbon is held across the path of the bride and her father as they leave the house for church, barring the way. She stops and is then handed a pair of scissors to cut the ribbon so she can move forward.  This symbolizes the breaking away from her old life in her father’s house and embarking on the new.  It’s quite an honour to be asked to be a ribbon bearer as I found out many years ago in Puglia when a friend asked me to hold the ribbon when she left the house. In fact I got so carried away with the emotion of it all that I completely forgot to hand the bride the scissors.  She’d probably still be living with her parents now if it hadn’t been for Vito!  Realising I hadn’t heard the frantic hissing of “forbici!!” by the other guests he saved the day, calling out loudly in English “Nadine!  Scissors!!!”  

Fortunately for my neighbour, her little attendants were far more with it.  The bride made her entrance on her proud father’s arm.  I don’t know if hers is a match made in Heaven, but her dress certainly was.  Father and daughter stopped by the ribbon, the bride was handed the scissors and

cut the white silk as everyone applauded. Then wreathed in smiles, she got into the Rolls Royce and began the journey to the rest of her life.

If you want to know more about ribbon cutting ceremonies, see here.

Wake up and smell the coffee

Vito’s just left for Naples and thereabout for a week on a business trip.  He normally leaves the house by 6.30 a.m. on a workday and today was no different.

I don’t usually get up when he does, but when he goes away I do so that we can have a cup of coffee together before he leaves. Fond farewells were taken, and we gave each other our last minute instructions … “make sure you drive carefully, call me when you get there” from me and on his side “don’t forget to close the shutters at night…”

Wheeling his case down the path, I heard him close the front gate behind him, and returned to the kitchen to make myself another cup of coffee to kick-start me into gear.  That’s when I remembered.  Flying to the front door, I called as loudly as I dared so as not to wake the neighbours …  “Vito, Vito, come back ..”

 “What is it?”

“You forgot to unscrew the coffee pot”.

It was he that made the coffee we shared earlier, and he does it every time. Screws the pot together so tightly with his Popeye muscles, that I spend an entire week trying to undo it, cursing like a navvy and going without coffee to boot. 

He followed me back into the house and I handed him the pot.  He turned it and it undid with a scrape and a slight pop!

“Easy!” he said.

“For you.”

So glad I caught him in time otherwise I’d have been sleep walking until next weekend.

Going for a song

Signooooraaa!!!  SIGNOOOOOOOOORRRRAAAA!!!!

I dread it when I hear my neighbour’s voice calling me across the dividing wall between his back garden and our terrace as it did late Saturday afternoon last week.  Not because I don’t like him, but because he speaks with such a strong Neapolitan accent that I cannot understand a word he says. Vito assures me though that our neighbour’s speech is difficult to follow,  like Geordie accents for the Brits. Peering out of the patio doors to see him waving at me, I called back to wait a second and dragged Vito out to "translate".  

We were invited to a “serenade”.  I was absolutely delighted, as I’d never been to one.  What’s a serenade?  Well, it’s when a male lover sings under the balcony/window to his loved one at night.  Ever so romantic, but here also a tradition followed by some as an excuse for a pre wedding party.  Our neighbour’s lovely daughter is getting married tomorrow J Her father asked us along with other neighbours to watch the “spectacle” and after join them for something to eat in the garden of their beautiful villa.  How could we possibly refuse??

We were instructed to go at 9 p.m. (Italian time it turned out L) but finding no-one at the appointed place (their garage ramp) we returned home. The serenade was being kept secret from the bride and we didn’t want to be seen hanging about in the street.  Later hearing soft music we went to investigate but unfortunately it was too dark and there were too many people to see much. We could just make the young husband warbling nervously up to his beloved leaning over the terrace wall above to watch.

The bride’s mother, a slim, very young looking woman with long dark hair, black flashing eyes and a deep husky voice grabbed me when she saw me.  “I’ve been trying to find you all week to invite you, where have you been?” she cried enveloping me in a warm hug.  “Come, come,” she called leading us round with her other guests through her front gate and into their enormous garden.  The lawn was decked out with tables and and a whole buffet of our hostess’ home cooking laid out on a groaning table.  She is a WONDERFUL cook. I love it when I’m occasionally invited in for coffee and cake (usually when I’ve lost one of the cats and have gone there for help in finding it). The decorations were somewhat unusual though, one in particular

standing guard over "bomboniere"or favours. I'd never seen bomboniere given at a wedding or christening or similar kind of party before living in Italy.

 You can read more about the history of favours here

Sitting at a table with our other neighbours we spent a lovely evening catching up on news and laughing a lot.  There was live music from couple whose repertoire ranged from Peggy Lee to Prince, and children running everywhere screaming with glee.  I eventually found the bride-to-be, a carbon copy of her mother and was able to wish her “Auguri”.  All in all an unusual, very Italian and lovely way to spend an evening J

Shaggy dog story

I finally found it, although it was so carefully camouflaged this time I missed it first time round.  It was hidden pretty close to where he hid the flip flop.

 I confronted him and this was his reaction ... is this what is referred to as a hangdog expression?

And then he looked at me like this!!

If ever there was a face that was up to no good, that one must be it lol!

Have the shoe on the other foot

This morning I washed the terrace, and my slippers got wet.  Stepping out of them I left them on the patio outside the back door to dry.  Tonight I saw this ............

He's done it AGAIN!!!!!!
UUURRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Let sleeping dogs lie ..

Saw this when we were stuck in a traffic jam not too long ago, and I couldn't help but giggle.  Can you spot the dog?