The Invitation

A slip of white paper was placed on my desk. I smiled my thanks and slowly opened it; I saw a picture of a witch and sighed in relief. I had been invited to the Halloween party too. While I didn’t even really want to go to the party or celebrate Halloween at all, I was excited because it was my first invitation to an Italian party and even though their moms probably forced them to invite “the American girl”, it was still thoughtful.

The next day at P.E. I told Enrico and Bernardo* in broken Italian that I could go to their party. They gave me a thumbs up and I was good to go. Though as the days grew closer to the party I started to get nervous. I asked my friends what they were going to wear and what they thought we would do. After I found out that we would be watching a horror film and none of the girls (except my two friends) were going, I was less enthusiastic about my first Italian invite.

The day of the party I was much less enthusiastic, in fact I didn’t want to go

at all. My mom said I could stay home on one condition, I had to call them and tell them why….have you ever tried to call someone in a language you don’t speak? It’s pretty terrifying. Even so, I knew I’d rather attempt to call than have to go so I got a piece of paper and a pen. I had to be prepared. Here’s what I wrote (remember, this is in Italian):

Is (insert name here) there?

It’s Courtney (from school). I can’t come to the party. I can’t come because tomorrow I’m leaving town for the weekend (conveniently we had to go to a conference the next day, the perfect excuse). Have a good party. See you on Monday. Bye.

Now that I had my lines written out I was ready. I took a deep breath and dialed the number. *Ring Ring Ring* I secretly started to hope that maybe they’d never answer and I’d be off the hook. But on the last ring someone picked up. I froze. After a few seconds of awkward silence I quickly stumbled through my lines. After I’d finished the person on the other line said something that I didn’t understand. I ran through my lines again. It was obvious that we weren’t understanding each other. Finally I just hung up. I quickly called my friend and told her to relay my apologies for not coming to the party. After that I slammed down the phone and got as far away from that phone as possible.

I stayed away from the phone for the rest of the night, blissfully eating mac and cheese and watching Scooby Doo in English. So if you ever happen to be invited to a party in a foreign country where you aren’t exactly fluent, you could do what I did, though a party would probably be more fun, so be courageous and go for it! Don’t spend your evening alone eating mac and cheese and watching Scooby Doo like I did. But then again, mac and cheese and Scooby Doo isn’t too bad.

*names changed

Dancing in the Storm

Lightning brightens the dark sky for a split second followed by a clap of thunder. Rain is drumming on the ground in a steady beat. Everyone is inside, bundled up in warm blankets with cups of steaming tea in their hands. Except for one girl; she’s outside, in the middle of the storm. Her hair is sopping wet and her clothes are plastered against her chilled skin. Her arms are spread wide and she spins around, dancing. A simple smile on her face.  In the middle of a storm.

Moving to a new country can be hard. Everything about it is different, especially the culture. It’s so easy to get caught up in how different everything is and concentrate on the negative instead of the beautiful. So maybe the country where you live is ridiculously inefficient, but maybe they’re also the best cooks in the world. (if you live in italy, like me, you’re probably nodding your head smiling right now) Don’t wait until you leave a country to realize how amazing it is. Look past your country’s faults to its beautiful people and culture.

It’s much easier to sit inside wrapped up in a comforting blanket instead of venturing out into the “culture storm”. But if you do chose to sit inside, you’ll miss the adventure. Dare to be different, dare to be adventurous. Go dance in that storm!

Dear God…

Dear God,

Thank you for October!
For candy corn,
For apple cider,
For cool fall days,
For clear night skies full of twinkling stars,
For scarves,
For leaves changing colors,
For acorns,
For pumpkins,
For pumpkin muffins,
For soft kleenexes when my nose is runny,
For fuzzy socks that keep my feet warm,
For lots of pillows and blankets on cold nights,
For hot soup,
For sweaters,
For the olive harvest,
and new olive oil for schiacciata,

Thank you God for October!

On the #7

The sun’s rays slowly warm the chilled morning. I walk up to the bus awaiting me in the piazza. I climb on and sit in my usual spot: four back from the front on the left. The only other person on the bus is the “Pony-Tail Lady”. The Pony Tail Lady never ever misses the bus and is always the first on. She keeps her long gray hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and she reminds me of Marilla Cuthbert. Her eyes dance around the bus, looking at everything. Soon there are three of us. A girl sits in the front with a purse on her lap. She is wearing tennis shoes and glasses and looks no older than 21. As it draws closer to 7:35 more people arrive. A tall muscular high school boy enters the door. His dark, thick eyebrows frame his eternal scowl. He walks to the back and sits down. Before the doors close a woman with thick curly hair gets on. She has a bag over her left shoulder and right hip; she holds it with her hand. She never ever sits down, she always stands, even if there is a seat open. The driver tosses his cigarette on the sidewalk and climbs on. The bus gives a rumble, the doors close, and we’re off! but all of a sudden a light blue car pulls in front of the bus. Two girls jump out. Katarina, the older one, is short and slender and has her short hair pulled back. The second girl, Lilli, has bright blonde hair and is wearing sweats. They quickly get on the bus. Now we are off! We sail past most of the beginning stops and we stop only at San Domenico, one fourth of the way down the hill leading to Florence. Several get on including one of the usuals: a middle aged man with gray hair, wearing a black suit. He has a face shaped slightly like that of a duck. As we continue, a loud laugh emerges from the group of high schoolers from the back. Several stops later two get on. The first is a 9th grade boy. He is tall and has huge eyes and a lopsided smile. His hair is unruly and looks unbrushed. He half runs to the back of the bus-bumping in to an old lady on the way-where he loudly greets his friends. The second to enter the bus is an old, tall man with blue eyes and white hair. His face is full of wrinkles and is slightly shadowed by his black felt hat. He wears a long trench coat and looks British. He looks friendly and nice. I look into his eyes and wonder what have they seen. Soon Anne Hathaway’s twin gets on the bus; she smiles and waves to her friends and waits for her stop. She is carrying a polka dot bag and has on brown slippers. She holds on to the pole in front of me. The “Lady-Who-Always-Stands” gets off the bus and walks away, where is she going? The next stop is mine. We sit at a red light; as soon as it turns green I get up and adjust my backpack and step froward. The duck man moves over so I can pass and the British man takes my seat, I’m glad. I stand at the middle door and descend with five others. I slip through the dumpsters blocking the sidewalk. I watch the bus drive away. Tomorrow I will wake up and get on the bus; Marilla Cuthbert will be waiting on the bus; the scowling boy will walk to the back; the 21 year old will sit at the front; the curly haired lady will stand; Katarina and Lilli will almost miss the bus; the duck man will be wearing a black suit; the 9th grader will still have a lopsided smile; the old man will have on his hat and coat; Anne Hathaway’s twin will smile; everyday we all do the same thing; we all need to be somewhere, and the only way to get there on time is taking the #7 at 7:35.