When I was the Parochial Vicar at St. Anthony of Padua Parish in Effingham, Illinois, we had a foreign exchange student attending St. Anthony High School from Bardolino, Italy and with whom I have happily maintained contact.
A few days ago he asked me to complete a research survey about Dr Pepper he was conducting for a project in a marketing class in which he is currently enrolled. This morning, he kindly sent to me a copy of a poster he has put together for the project because I feature somewhat prominently in it:
He, too, is a fan of Dr Pepper and wishes it was more readily available in Italy. Perhaps one day it will be; he recently found it in one of his local grocery store chains (it is not yet in the same chain in Rome, but hope springs eternal!).
The first teenager was tracked down and the three were taken in for
questioning by police, where they made the audacious request for a
selfie with police officers as a souvenir of their first arrest.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, police did not grant their request. The three face charges for shoplifting [more].
I'm tempted to ask if taking selfies makes people stupid, or if it's the other round, but it's an answer that I probably don't to know.
As I was preparing to begin the day this morning I heard a quick downpour of rain outside my window. This wasn't unexpected as the forecast for the week called for rain nearly all day every day. Still, there was something intense about this sudden burst of rain (that lasted all of three minutes) that I said to myself, "And the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down."
I thought the words belonged to a song and since I couldn't remember what song it might be, I went searching the Internet. What I found brought back happy memories of childhood:
I shared it on Facebook and said, "It may not be this bad in Rome today, but you get the idea." Apparently I was wrong. Maybe.
It hasn't rained much in my part of the city today but because of an expected 12 cm (4 3/4") of rain and strong winds tonight, the city of Rome is under a Code Red and schools tomorrow are closed. This is apparently a situatione sensa precedenti, a situation without precedent. Curiously, no one seems to know what a Code Red means.
There's very little wind where I am now and no rain, though we've heard a bit of thunder and seen a little lightning.
Having recently survived Hurricane Iselle and having watched Hurricane Julio blow by, I'm not in the least concerned. I find this situation rather humorous, especially since the weather isn't even anything like a good Midwestern storm. This seems one great over-reaction to a possible storm (it was supposed to pour down rain all day today but didn't, though, to be fair, Rome has terrible drainage), but this is Italy.
UPDATE 1 (6 November 2014, 7:09 a.m.):
Since all schools in Rome are closed today for fear of the coming rain, I decided to take a little walk this morning breakfast (it wasn't - and isn't now - raining in my part of the city).
I had planned to walk to the Basilica of St. Peter and back (right about 30 minutes each way), but when I arrived at the Pantheons about 6:30 a.m. (after about 10 minutes of walking), I decided not to go as far as planned. The clouds appeared low, dark, and thick in the direction of the Vatican hill and a few sprinkles where falling in the piazza in front of the ancient temple, which, since A.D. 609 is dedicated to St. Mary and the Martyrs (the holy Mass is celebrated there each day, though the Eucharist is not reserved there because of the hordes of tourists):
But, as is often the case with things in Italy, in the opposite direction the weather looked quite different:
We'll see what happens. If the rain falls as expected, this could be a good day to return to the Pantheon to see the rain pouring through the oculus in the dome.
UPDATE 2:
The city of Roma has ordered most vehicular traffic off of the streets and many busses are not running today. Schools are closed throughout the city - including Sapienza and the Angelicum - but not the Pontifical Gregorian University. I am not happy.
Not - at 8:31 a.m. - the rain is pouring down.
UPDATE 3:
It rained for - at most - an hour and a half this morning and much that was just a normal, nothing too heavy. There aren't large puddles in the streets and all seems well. At this point, it seems just another instance of government incited panic over the weather (as often now happens in the U.S. with a couple inches of forecasted snow). Soon I'll take a little walk to the Tiber River to see how it looks.
UPDATE 4:
It's now 8:11 p.m. in Rome and it's been raining steadily for at least an hour now, with lots of lightning and thunder. The lights have flickered a few times, but so far we haven't lost power.
I didn't make it out earlier to the Pantheon because just as I was about to walk out of our building the wind picked up, the rain fell heavily. The sky even almost had a greenish tint to it. This could be an interesting night.
When I tell people back home in the United States of America that the number one goal for many - if not most - Italians is not to work right now (with no real thought to increased work in the future), they are baffled and cannot imagine how this could be the case. Today, I can offer an example (even if a bit extreme).
Consider this story from The Telegraph of a coal miner who admits that, after 35 years of "work" for the coal company, "I reached the pensionable age without hardly ever working." He has now retired at the age of 52:
An Italian coal miner's confession that he is drawing a pension despite hardly
ever putting in a day’s work over a 35-year career has underlined the
country’s problem with benefit fraud and its dysfunctional pension system.
Carlo Cani started work as a miner in 1980 but soon found that he suffered
from claustrophobia and hated being underground.
He started doing everything he could to avoid hacking away at the coal face,
inventing an imaginative range of excuses for not venturing down the mine in
Sardinia where he was employed.
He pretended to be suffering from amnesia and haemorrhoids, rubbed coal dust
into his eyes to feign an infection and on occasion staggered around
pretending to be drunk.
The miner, now aged 60, managed to accumulate years of sick leave, apparently
with the help of compliant doctors, and was able to stay at home to indulge
his passion for jazz [more].
I suppose, in some ways, it's a dream come true. It's also a prime example of the serious difficulties underlying Italy's economy.
Living in Italy, one has the impression that the number one goal of any Italian at any given moment - or at least the great majority of them - is not to work right now (with no real thought given to what that might mean down the road). More often than not, you - the customer - are given the not-so-subtle impression that you are a bother to the shopkeeper, an interruption in his or her doing nothing, and getting his or her assistance - or even sensible answers to clear questions - can often be quite a struggle. However, once you've made your purchase, the same worker who a moment ago would hardly speak a word to you, now wants to have a lengthy conversation. Why? You are no longer the enemy. Welcome to Italy. True story.
Let's take another example, say, a trip to the store to pick up something simple, like a light bulb. Let's say, too, that you've bought light bulbs in this particular store before, but today you do not see any where they are usually located. You go to the counter to ask the worker if he has any light bulbs of the kind you want. He walks with you back to the shelf and, when he also sees none there, tells you he is out of this particular light bulb. Walking with him back to the counter, you chat with him a bit when you notice a light bulb - of the kind you want - behind the counter. You point it out to him and ask if you might buy that light bulb. He will turn and look behind the counter but will never see the light bulb. Why? Because in a round about way, you've unknowingly called him a liar (because he just told you he was out of that light bulb). Welcome to Italy. True story.
Or another example, like buying a pinino (a sandwich). You enter the panineria and ask if he has a panino with prosciuto crudo (it's a really good cured ham), mozzarella, and tomatoes (if you can find one, you should try it). He looks at you with exasperation. Why? Because he lots of panini already made, though none of them are what you requested. He has all of the ingredients, but making this particular sandwich would require a bit of work right now. Never mind the fact that you made up your mind to never visit this shop again, even though you walked by it almost every day. Welcome to Italy. True story. Now, this particular shop is closed for good. True story.
The only thing I've seen Italians do quickly is put up scaffolding; they are amazingly fast at this. One morning I walked past a 5 or 6 story building and when I walked by it again about two hours later, the entire building was covered in scaffolding. I was shocked. Why scaffolding goes up so quickly, I do not know.
Every now and again, though, an Italian will surprise you in that when he does decide it is now time to work, he does what he does very well. Take, for example, a little shopping I did back in Assisi a week ago when I bought a few gifts for myself.
After looking around in the store for only a moment, I knew I would buy something because I very much enjoyed the items sold in the store. When a friend and I recruited the shop keeper's help, he was very friendly and spoke with us his offerings, which ultimately helped me make my selection.
After taking the items to his desk (many Italian shops don't have what we would call a counter), he took his time first writing down each price before adding them up and giving me a total. He then, to my surprise, began boxing my items up and wrapping them, a process he finished by attaching a bow to each box.
Blogger seems to only be adding pictures sideways today.
On the one hand, this was nice and pleasant; but on the other hand, I found myself simply wanting to pay and be on my way. The items, were, after all, only for me:
If you can't quite make out the items, they are a quill of sorts with a bottle of ink, an ink well and holder for the quill, and sticks of wax, a seal, a scoop of sorts in which to melt to wax, and a small container of something to gently rub over the wax seal to make it shine with a golden hue. I expect to get much enjoyment out of these items, though they will not likely be used with great frequency.
One the items were wrapped and paid for, the shop keeper continued talking with us. When I mentioned I hope to return frequently to Assisi - as often as one weekend each month - he invited me to return to his shop each time for a visit, an invitation I will likely accept.
In case you have forgotten since I first passed on the news, tomorrow will be a particular happy day for Tolkien enthusiasts throughout the world as his translation of Beowulf, which he finished in 1926, is finally published.
Not wanting to wait until I return to the United States of America at the end of June for a bit of a summer break - and not wanting to wait and wait and wait to find it in Rome - I went to the Italian Amazon web site today to pre-order the book. I was quite surprised that it sells there for 23,46 € (the equivalent of $32.05) and that it would not likely arrive until until June 2nd.
This, I thought, was a bit ridiculous and so I made my way over to the United Kingdom Amazon web site where I found the book sells for £13.40 (the equivalent of $22.61). Why such a price difference? I'm not sure.
Since this was a much better price (in the U.S.A., the book sells for $20.40 [it would take too long and cost too much to get it across the Atlantic]) I opted for the 2-4 shipping method, which meant it should arrive here at the Casa Santa Maria between May 24th and 26th. Curiously, the confirmation e-mail estimated delivery between May 29th and 31st. I can only suppose the Brits are familiar with the Poste Italiane.
Imagine my surprise then when I received an e-mail just a few minutes ago that my copy of the book has already shipped (I'm not sure how since it isn't released until tomorrow) and is estimated to arrive on May 26th!
I'm very much looking forward to its arrive because I have not read Beowulf since I read it in high school in a class on British literature. I may have been the only student in the class who enjoyed the poem and have been meaning to read the last several years.
It was not too long ago that a friend sent a copy of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Monsters and the Critics and Other Essays. Of his own The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien wrote: "It is mainly concerned with Death, and Immortality; and the 'escapes': serial longevity, and hoarding memory" (Letter 211). This same theme he found in Beowulf.
Tolkien believed the author of Beowulf "is still concerned primarily with man on earth, rehandling in a new perspective an ancient theme: that man, each man and all men, and all their works shall die." He went on to suggest, in his classic essay "Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics":
Almost we might say that this poem was (in one direction) inspired by the debate that had long been held and continued after, and that is was one of the chief contributions to the controversy: shall we or shall we not consign the heathen ancestors to perdition? What good will it do posterity to read the battles of Hector? Quid Hinieldus cum Christo? The author of Beowulf showed forth the permanent value of that pietas which treasures the memory of man's struggles in the dark past, man fallen and not yet saved, disgraced but not dethroned. It would seem to have been part of the English temper in its strong sense of tradition, dependent doubtless on dynasties, noble houses, and their code of honour, and strengthened, it may be, by the more inquisitive and less severe Celtic learning, that it should, at least in some quarters and despite grave and Gallic voices, preserve much from the northern past to blend with southern learning, and new faith.
As I re-read Beowulf, I shall keep a close watch for what Tolkien saw therein.
The news you may have missed (which I forgot to post before going to bed last night):
Sometimes a news headline leaves you simply asking, "What?" That's what I asked after I read this headline: "Mozzarella arrests made after counterfeit cheese found in Italy". There are many laws in Italy which are publicly ignored both by criminals and the authorities (simply look on the sidewalks of Rome for evidence of this), but food they take seriously.
According to Credit Donkey, college graduates this year would do well to move to my hometown of Quincy, Illinois, which comes in at #8 among the best top cities for college grads in 2014 for the following reasons:
Unemployment rate: 5.1%
Population with bachelor’s degree: 13.7%
Median rent: $606
Commute time: 17.1 minutes
Bars per 10,000 people: 5.19
The Gem City is home to 62,000 people, many of whom apparently like
bars. The commute is on the low side here, and the median rent is well
below the average median rent of $720.
It is commonly said - with some exaggeration - that Quincy has a bar and a church on every corner. It was even said that Quincy had more bars than churches. That, however, is untrue. One of the sociology professors at Quincy University looked into this question and the numbers to be close, but churches outnumber bars.
In Ohio, a county probate judge has ordered a man to stop reproducing. Regardless of what you think of the man in question, this sentence should deeply trouble you. Other governments have forbidden certain segments of the population from reproducing, and it did not end well.
Yesterday being "little Easter" throughout Italy, most businesses - and even some cafes - were closed even if they were on Easter Sunday (don't look for logic here) as a way of taking a break after the business of Holy Week and the Paschal Triduum. It is an idea I find quite pleasing and in most of the western world it would not cause too many difficulties, but this is Italy.
Ordinarily, it takes four to five days to have a pair of pants dry cleaned; if Rome has anything like a same-day cleaning service, such as those in my hometown, I have yet to find it or hear of it. You can imagine that such a turn around time sometimes takes good planning, particularly if a cassock needs to be cleaned.
This morning I dropped off three pairs of pants for cleaning and was told they will be ready on Wednesday, the 30th of April, eight days from now. There must be quite a back load of work from yesterday and modern Italians are not known for their efficiency.
Two days ago I received a form in my mailbox at the Casa Santa Maria from the Italian Postal System informing me that the post office in the Piazza di San Selvestro (about ten minutes away) had a package for me to collect. For reasons I cannot begin to fathom, it sometimes happens - though not always - that packages are not delivered to your address with your usual mail (though often they are), but are held at the post office for you.
The experience of others told me that I should allow for at least a full hour of waiting after I arrived at the post office. With my classes each day this week at the Sacred Apostolic Penitentiary, this afternoon was my first such free stretch of time.
When I saw the form - the first one I have received - I was both frustrated and excited, for reasons you can surely imagine. I've been expecting a few packages sent from friends from Columbus, Ohio (sent back before Christmas), from St. Louis, Missouri, and from Honolulu, Hawai'i. Unfortunately none of these were the package which was being held for me.
The first thing you need to know about the Poste Italiana - as with most everything else in Italy - is the efficiency is not its strong point, despite the absolute requirement to collect a ticket before being able to do anything in the post office from one of these machines:
They are as complicated as they look and it is not uncommon to see Italians simply take one ticket of each option because even they cannot always figure out which ticket they need (you will be sent away from the employee if the ticket you chose does not correspond to what you need).
I chose a ticket for "pacci" (packages) and waited. And waited. And waited. And then waited a bit more. However, knowing what this endeavor would entail, I went prepared with a book lent to me from one of the English priests staying with us at the Casa: Stephen Clark's 1,000 Years of Annoying the French, which, being written in typical English humor, provides at least one audible chuckle or guffaw every couple of pages.
For one hour and ten minutes I waited. Yes, you read that correctly: I waited for 70 minutes. When I arrived at the counter displaying my number, an old Italian woman - who apparently wasn't paying attention when her number was called two numbers before mine - managed to display me and I was sent to the next counter where the attendant was already waiting on another customer. So there I waited for another ten minutes.
When finally she was ready for me I handed her the form about the package, after which she insisted on seeing my ticket and also a document proving my identity. Then she went away without a word, presumably in search of my package. Ten minutes later she returned again to consult the form from the Poste Italiana with the proper reference number (I didn't want to ask why she didn't simply take the form with her in the first place). She returned yet another ten minutes later with a small package (an large envelope, really) and the spent another five minutes with a colleague before they determined that I only needed to sign for the package without paying any fees. Finally, I had my package and exited the post office.
As I walked out of the post office I looked at the return address. The envelope was from the Canon Law Society of America and contained Proceedings of the Seventy-fifth Annual Convention, October 14-17, 2013, Sacramento, California. You can imagine my deep frustration when I realized I waited an hour and a half for that.
On Saturday, a friend and I plan to take a pilgrimage day to pray before the Holy Face and have rented a car to do so, there being no other truly simple way to get there.
Renting a car in Italy, much like many other things, does not follow quite the same process as in the United States of America. On the car rental company's web site, after selecting the day and type of car I would like, I was asked to provide what kind of credit card I will be using to pay (Visa, MasterCard, etc.). Curiously, I was not asked to provide the credit card number or the expiration date; I presume that information will be collected when we arrive for the car.
For some time now, I have been saying, somewhat tongue in cheek, that if there is a simpler or more efficient way to do something, it will never occur to the Italians. Life in Italy is very good, but it is a good thing the Italians no longer run the known world.
On Saturday evening His Holiness Pope Francis presided at Solemn Vespers I for the First Sunday of Advent in the Vatican basilica. As I made my way to the basilica with two other priests from the Casa Santa Maria I realized - when we were already half-way there - that in my haste to remember my gloves I left my ticket on my desk. Remembering where we were (Italy) and knowing that not having a ticket doesn't seem to preclude entrance to the Wednesday Audiences or much else these days, we kept going thinking we would simply sort it out if need be.
After making our way through the extraordinarily long line and passing through the security checkpoint without being asked to present a ticket we thought all was well, but as we passed by the Bronze Doors, however, a member of the security team, an Italian, asked for our tickets.
I said to him, "Ho dimenticato il mio biglietto" (which translates to, "I forgot my ticket") and showed him my student ID card from the Pontifical Gregorian University since the prayer service was billed as one for the students of the Roman universities (though that didn't seem to matter much as a great many people who were clearly not students came with tickets).
In response, he simply said, "Svizzera" (which translates to, "Swiss"). Not quite knowing what to expect next I began ascending the steps to the Bronze Doors with a sigh. As I approached the guard he saluted (which doesn't happen very often now for simple priests) and I passed within the doors to speak with two of the Swiss Guard inside (did you know the coat of arms of the Pope during whose reign then entered the Guard is engraved on the hilt of their swords? I didn't either, but was pleased to see Benedict' XVIs one of the guard's swords).
I greeted them and said, "Ho dimenticato il mio biglietto" and showed them my ID. One of them pronounced my last name - in proper German - and the other guard began looking through a list for my name, but could not find it. The one looked at my ID again and gave my first name, the name of the Gregorian university, and my nationality, but still could not find my name. After some flipping of pages he looked at me and asked in English, "For how many tickets did you make a reservation?"
"None," I said. "I forgot my ticket in my room and the Gregorian did not have me give my name."
"Oh," he said and simply handed me a new ticket.
Sometimes I really think I'd get farther in Italy if I never tried to speak Italian and only spoke English instead.
This morning I wrote a letter in Italian to the Secretary of the Governor General of the Equestrian Order of the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem - at the direction of my Lieutenant - asking how I might take part in the activities of the Order's upcoming pilgrimage for the Year of Faith.
Before sending the letter by fax, I asked the secretary here at the Casa Santa Maria to give it a read and tell me if it made sense. She said she could understand it, but it was not correct Italian; even so, she seemed to think it sufficient to send.
Still, I asked her to help me correct it and she scribbled away on the letter. I was, I think, glad to see that she also had to stop and think for a moment when choosing the appropriate preposition in certain cases where I chose incorrectly.
As I continue to learn the language, one thought continually comes to mind: When you want Italian to be precise, it isn't; and when you don't want it to be precise, it is.
Ah, well, as they say here: "Piano a piano." Literally, it means "floor to floor," but figuratively it means "little by little." There seem to be in Italian many words that have a variety of meanings which are not immediately connected.
