The Nun's Foot

I hope she heals up okay.

I was on the Tram 8, returning from a big grocery shopping at Standa Supermercato. My trolley cart was full of heavy stuff, like cartons of milk and orange juice, two bottles of wine, a bag of oranges and lots of vegetables.

The tram was full (as usual!), but I had managed to find an empty seat near the exit door. When my stop came I stood up to make ready to haul out my load. Well, this nun was standing nearby and as I took one step toward the door she started pushing me to get my seat. I was attempting to manuver my cart around a man standing in the way. As I felt the nun rudely pushing I just kept going. I felt the cart go bloop, bloop. Kinda like when you run over a small animal with your car. Just a little up and down sensation. I glanced back briefly to see the wheel of my cart coming down off the nun’s foot.

It was a direct hit.

I had no sympathy.

I had no time, the doors were starting to close.

Another enchanting shopping experience in Roma.

On Snoring

i woke up with what i thought was a sore throat
but a few minutes after getting up and drinking a glass of water
i realized i no longer had the sore throat
it must have been a “snore” throat

The Man tells me i snore
he mentions it the next morning
tells me how he tried to wake me up and get me to stop
without success
he attempts to remember my snoring
then he imitates me

i’m sure i don’t snore
only disgusting people snore
people who have bad teeth and live in the bushes
people who have no friends and scratch themselves in inappropriate places
people who scare children and small animals with their sickening smile

The Man snores
he snores like a banchee
like a ship under full sail on a mighty ocean
like a parade of ten thousand sumo wrestlers
and sometimes like cotton balls falling on brittle leaves

i wonder if, in the night, we snore in unison
creating some kind of atonal sonata
each movement full of b flats and dissonants
an adagio to dream by
our nocturnal duet

A Town Without Pity But Great Pasta

Rome is good. Today we entered the land of eternal bureaucracy in order to renew our Permesso Di Sojourno's ("permission to stay" documents). We took a bus up to Piazza Barberini, near the Via Veneto, Rome's old "La Dolce Vita" area. It's where all the old, grand hotels are located. We went to a photocopying place to make copies of all kinds of documents necessary, pages and pages. Then we traipsed up an ancient marble staircase in a nearby office where a girl typed all kinds of data into a computer. She verified that we had all the necessary papers. Then we took all the stuff to a main post office where they told us we had to go to the local tabacco shop and buy a "marco di bollo" a kind of postage stamp. It's a stamp that you buy and they stick on official documents. Those cost about 15 euros each, 14.72, to be exact - go figure! Then we went back to the post office and a guy there looked through all the paperwork again, and affixed the stamps in the appropriate place. We filled out some more papers and signed some more papers and stood around some more. Oh, and we paid some more money, 27.50 euros each for some kind of Department of Finance fee and another 30 euros each for the envelope to hold all the papers that are now being sent to some other office that will actually issue us the new Permesso Di Sojourno's. They said we would get a phone message on Jack's cellular indicating when we should go to the Questura (another government office) to present the four passport-sized photos necessary AND to get fingerprinted. They said that would happen in two to six months - How's that for narrowing it down?!

Did I mention that all this is for a Permesso Di Sojourno RENEWAL! We have to do all this every two years. This, in the age of computers. I asked the girl why we have to be fingerprinted again...they haven't changed since the last time (our fingerprints, that is). She said, very seriously, that it was necessary.

Can you imagine going to get a driver's license and being told, "we'll let you know in about six months when you can come and pick it up."

Oh, and also, the procedure for doing all this has changed since the last time. Last year they announced that they had SIMPLIFIED IT!!! Mamma Mia!

Afterward, we left the post office and stepped out into the bright sunshine and walked next door past a church that contains the head of John the Baptist, at least they claim the skull on display is that of John. I've heard there's about 5 proclaimed skulls that bear the name of J the B.

Then, we continued a few blocks to our favorite eatery, Pasquale's Pizzeria. It's a small, family-owned and operated place that serves great pizza by the slice, but the daughter cooks in the back. Each day she makes two pasta dishes to choose from and also a soup of the day. You just walk in to the counter where the pizza sits on big cookie sheets. They'll cut any size you want. That's where the father takes orders. We go up and ask what kind of pasta they have, order and usually get a half liter of wine, red or white. The wine comes out of a tap into a pitcher that we take with us to our table. After a short while the son brings out our steaming hot plates of the best pasta. We always sit at a big table in the front. It's where all the locals sit. There are two men who are usually there who work for the Maltese Embassy and, according to the owner, have eaten there every day for the past eighteen years. It's a great place.

So, we had a day of hastle and frustration, then it turned into "ah, good ol' Roma."

We walked back and stopped in to see the Pantheon. On the outside there is a large inscription that says it was built by Marcus Agrippa, back in the time of the Emperor Augustus, the guy who took over after Julius Caesar was killed. But, actually, I think it was built later by Emperor Hadrian. Anyway, it's a beautiful, domed structure, one of the best preserved ancient buildings in Rome. I sat in the sunshine, at the base of one of the marble pillars. I just sat there enjoying the sights and sounds. The piazza there was full of people, but somehow tranquil and very relaxing.

I told Jack that we should have taken the camera with us today. We could have photographed the offices we were in, the old marble staircases, the beautifully frescoed ceiling of the post office, John the Baptist's head, the Pantheon. Maybe we'll remember next time. I keep thinking I could post this stuff on my non-existant blogsite.

Now I have to go. Jack wants to walk around. I think it's too cold, but I figure something could happen out there and I don't want to miss it.

Identity Card Depression

Today I went to get an Identity Card at some government office here in Rome.

I took a number from a ticket machine and began waiting. After a while my number was illuminated on a board and indicated that I should go to line number 8. I went there and told the woman behind the counter that I wanted a "Carta d'Identita." She rolled her eyes, sighed, and told me that I needed to go upstairs and get the correct form. I went upstairs and paid 5.42 euros for the required form. I also needed my passport and one copy, my permesso di sojourno and three photos. I didn't have three euros change for the photo-taking machine (which doesn't give change if you put in a 5 euro note) and I didn't have my original passport with me, so The Man and I returned home for lunch. (The office closes from noon to 2:00, anyway.) I figured that we could just get all my stuff together and return in the afternoon.

After lunch and a brief nap (necessary for the ordeal ahead) we returned to the office. I brought the three euros and sat in the photo booth. I left with several of the worst photos I've ever seen of myself. The Man and I returned to the big office, took a number and waited with all the other poor souls going through the same thing.

I got to the woman behind the glass window again, spread out all my documents, along with the form, partially filled out because it's all in Italian and I couldn't understand some of it. Anyway, the exasperated woman behind the counter told me I needed a "Residenza." "A what?" I asked. She explained it in rapid Italian, something about another document I needed from some other counter there in the building.

We went to that counter and were told that the "Residenza" requests are only done in the morning and that I'd have to return at 8:30 tomorrow to get in a line where some "Vigili" (policeman) would be handing out numbers to the first ten people in line. They only process ten people each day.

We backed away from the counter to let others shove their way to the front. I stood there, my fists full of papers and bad photos, and looked at The Man. He stood there in the middle of the office and said, "Did you think you were just going to walk in here and get your Card today?!" I just looked at him. He already has his Identity Card. He went through this some years ago. He knows the drill, the pain, the frustration involved in trying to get any kind of documentation in this country of endless, insane bureaucracy.

We walked out...in total defeat.

I may go back tomorrow. I may not. I'm not sure I'm up to the challenge.

Oh, and the last woman we spoke to said that even if I get my "residenza" paperwork done tomorrow, it still takes an additional three months before I'll see my Carta d'Identita.