Christmas Eve. I already ran (more like hobbled since my knee was acting up bad) one load of gifts, food, and my overnight bag to the car. I come back up for one last check that the babies will be okay over night and that none of my breakables are at risk should they have a rowdy Christmas party. Alarm set, bag on my shoulder, and a small box of cookies and treats from my kitchen in my hand I ring the doorbell of my landlord's parents. I am clearly departing to my "other family" for Christmas celebrations starting with dinner in about an hour in a half which gives me plenty of time to get there, toss together the salad, and even enjoy a glass of wine.
Or so I thought.
Si?
Buona sera, questa Katherine. (locks opening and Teresa peaks out of the door to see the box of dolce) Buon Natale!
She lets me in (first warning) and goes into their living room and comes back with what we affectionately refer to as the "Italian fruitcake." Side story here- Panatone. Around this time every year they come in a various types and in different color of boxes. Most even come with a bottle of prosecco! You see Italians filling up carts of these boxes in the stores to inevitably trade with a friend. I smile and thank her for the cake as she decides it's time to call up her son so I can chat with him about the house?
The poor man is getting ready for one of his busiest days at the restaurant, but plays along with small talk for 5 or so minutes. During this time his mom, is pressing me to have candies out of a dish and asking if I'd like coffee. I let Joe (my landlord) know that I was just doing a quick stop by to wish his parents a Merry Christmas and drop of cookies before going to my friends' house for dinner. A few more minutes on the phone with him I finally pass the phone back to his mom.
Great- prefect time...I shuffle in my chair and glance at my watch to see just how fast I need to drive.
Teresa starts talking and to my surprise I'm actually understanding what she is asking. Maybe I am picking up the language OR (most likely) it's the same conversations we have every time so I'm getting better at answering about my family, traveling, work, weather, and the house. Nico always makes the conversation too- of course! Going back and forth, probably slipping way more Spanish in there than I even knew I still know she gets up again asking if I want coffee.
No grazie.
Then she asks about lemons? Um sure? She walks back from the other side of the kitchen counter with a plastic bag full of lemons and oranges and a bottle of "home brewed" wine that her brother made.
More (labored) chatting about how she mailed a 18kg box to her family in NJ and she hopes it gets there in time and asking about what we will be eating for dinner we finally run our of things to talk about (or you know, my so limited vocab).
I have no idea what time it is, but the darkening sky and many church bells reveal I was there much longer than planned. She helps me gather up all my regali as I once again thank her and wish her a Buon Natale and hobble down the stairs.
When I finally reach Lori's, frantically getting stuff unloaded I see her and let her know "Sorry, my landlady held my hostage." Without batting an eye, she says, "no prob."
See? She's been here even longer- she knows the drill! Oh well- I need to use these excuses now while I can because I guarantee that won't be an option to use when I'm back in the states! Oh and I also need to see how many creative ways I can use panatone.
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