When will you know? Quando lo saprete?
I walked for two miles up and down the river this morning to clear my cobwebs. Mood is much better than yesterday morning as bits and pieces of hope floated in on the U.S. election news yesterday. I stopped in the caffè next to our office palazzo, lingered over a cappuccino, gave in and got the delicious fresh Italian cornetto. Why not? Perché no? Life is short; some days are harder than others. Italy ensures that everyone has access to a very affordable pick-me-up, no matter the city or day. Thus fortified, I headed upstairs and let myself in the heavy front door.
Pinuccia the office cleaner was hard at work this morning in our reception area. “Monica! BUONGIORNO!” She is a reliably cheery morning greeter. “Quando lo saprete?” When will you all know?
“Una bella domanda,” I yelled back even though she was about a foot from me.
These types of discussions in Italy require minor shouting. Sometimes, when the windows in our palazzo are open and seemingly shouting voices float up or down inside the courtyard from other apartments, I have to ask Eleanor, “Are they angry or just being Italian?” My little Italian culture expert will cock her head, listen for a second, and usually say, “Mommy, they are just being Italian. It is how they talk.” I have asked her this enough that sometimes now this ebullient Finn will now edge into Italian volume when culturally appropriate. I feel Pinuccia is a safe space in which to try out my discursive volume.
And it is a beautiful question. When will we know?
Pinuccia continued, “I saw everything that Tramp was saying! How he’d already won! Lying! And then I remembered what you told me, Monica! That he’s mentally ill! Malato di mente! So I paid a lot less attention. It makes sense what you said! He’s matto, pazzo.” She swirled an invisible corkscrew by her ear. I was glad that I had been able to give her useful information to refine her reception of Tramp’s rants now making international news.
“But you know, Monica,” she scrunched up the left side of her face in consideration, “I think the even BIGGER question right now is, when is Melania going to file for the divorzio?” Pinuccia cackled and made an internationally recognized non-verbal gesture for feck off. “Oddio, I hope she gets to file her divorzio papers soon!” She trotted off down the hallway to the architect’s studio to work on their end of the office. I am pretty sure she cleans that side too. Or maybe she was just headed down there to get their news.
I have plenty more on my mind, but must go refresh a few websites for return updates. But, America, this: I can’t stress enough how the eyes of the world are on you. This is an election of global importance. It really is. This election matters. Your votes matter. All of them.