Nothing in particular

“Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to.” ~The Hobbit, currently being read (by me)

I had a lovely time babysitting (or playing with, whichever you prefer) 10 charges last weekend—ages 2-13; for the Avant team in Genova. I don’t remember particularly a lot of what we did, but we did a lot—I taught the older ones the Virginia Reel, read with the younger ones and paid fake money for cleaning up. And I could feel my imagination coming back to me just by the presence of young minds—I almost believed me when I said we were spies and had to be quiet so the enemies wouldn’t find us. I didn’t realize how deprived of children I’ve been feeling until one of them said, “We haven’t met you for a long time; we love you!” and gave me a kiss. I melted.

But then, one has to come back, and I was tired. And had to go through Milan. I already had bad associations with it—the only other times I’ve been there, I (1) was running to catch the train that left 3 minutes after I arrived, and (2) had just returned from a beautiful week at the Avant Europe conference in Switzerland and was sad to be leaving friends and homesick and getting sick and I sat in the muggy heat and cried. It wasn’t hot and muggy Monday (rainy nasty cold), but I didn’t feel many degrees more cheerful.

And yet, God is good, and is still with me, even when I don’t “feel” like it. And He reminds me of it in verses and books and conversations. He is real and really involved in real life. Even mine.

Things have been going on strike here. The library was last Friday, then the buses and trains Monday; yesterday it was some other group that I don’t know what they do besides marching along the street I need to cross waving red flags and yelling through a loudspeaker that they are opposed to the government and for themselves. I brandished my trusty red umbrella Excalciobrrr and made it through unharmed, only a little further downstream than I intended to be.

Today a little girl I’ve seen before but whose name I forget came in the bookstore—I smiled at her and said, “Ciao!” And she hid at first, but then said, “Ciao, Anna!” She walked up the steps to where I was working and when she went back told her dad I was up there. “Oh, are you happy?” he asked. “Yes,” she said, “She’s my friend!” I melted again.

I wrestled with the key at the publishing house for nearly an hour today, because I couldn’t get it closed. The mailman even stopped to give a hand—and was happy when he opened it until I explained that I was actually trying to close it—maybe I shouldn’t have told him. Eventually I called Michael and he said, “Why don’t you try moving it right to left?” Which I did, and it didn’t work—but when I moved it left to right, it did! Praise God.

The street vendors are out selling hot roasted chestnuts, and candy—a little girl with brown eyes trying to fit a bite of the cotton candy her mother had bought her into her mouth. The street artists are selling crafts; and I stopped and bought a nativity set in a seashell. The clerk at the grocery store this evening said, “I haven’t seen you for a long time!” “No,” I said, “I’ve been too lazy to get out in the cold and rain—and then my bike had a flat tire…and you?” “I’m always here, rain or snow,” she said. “Like the post!” I replied, and then realized we were in Italy. Well, maybe not then.

I hear that the post office close to us had their bancomat bombed a couple of weeks ago and this messed up some of the mail.

And I got an SMS from the questura—at 2 a.m.—saying I have an appointment for fingerprinting December 2nd after applying for my permesso at the end of October. Wow, that was fast!

And I broke the handle on my freezer. Everything I touch…

I think I’ll go to the library now. Assuming it’s not on strike.