"Life is the art of meeting/connecting" -- An Abruzzesi saying
Or, re-connecting, as the case may be.
Barbara, Gene, and his sister, Pam scored the winning bid for a week's stay a Casa da Carmine in a benefit auction for their local community theater. Gene and Barbara are theater friends from at least 20 years back. Their youngest son played 8-year old Thomas to my Sister Mary Igancious at above said theater. He's now grown, a veteran, with two children. THAT'S how long I've known them.
Our initial reconnection took place over their half-consumed cappucini in a snack bar at Pescara Centrale train station.We decided we'd better continue the process in the car while we could still make a run to it before a threatening squall lost its restraint. In the car, there was plenty of time for conversation.
Italians are inexorably drawn to tiny swimsuits, good restaurants (good food, in general), attractive people, and "saldi". These are the twice-yearly sales that herald the transition from winter-to-spring/summer fashion and vice-versa. They occur in January and July, when storefronts, community bulletin boards, and traveling adverts mounted on flatbed trucks are plastered with signs screaming "Saldi! Saldi! Saldi! Sconto fino a 70%!"
It was Saturday, July 2 - the first week-end day of the July saldi. To get to Casa da Carmine, we had to pass through every commercial area between Pescara and Castiglione Messer Raimondo. A 45-minute drive took 2 hours. Plenty of catch-up time.
It was astonishing to calculate how long it had been since we last saw each other -- 15 years! Eventful ones at that.
When we finally pulled up to the parking area behind the house, I became aware that it was difficult for Barbara to climb out of the back seat of our tiny, 2-door Fiat 500 after that long drive.
She saw me staring, uselessly and indelicately, and laughed. "It has been a long time!, she said. "You didn't know about my accident?"
I shook my head.
Here's the story she told me of how Barbara Got Run Over by an iPhone (user):
She was driving home from a job at Penn State, tooling along a stretch of route 322 that is mostly, but not entirely tree-lined. Going a respectable 65 MPH or so. In the passing lane a young man zipped by doing at least 80. Driving illegally with only a permit. Fiddling with his iPhone. As he passed, he clipped her driver's side ever so briefly. But enough to send her off the road at the only treeless point, where she rolled down an embankment, turning over 3 times before coming to rest at the bottom. Thankfully, right-side up. Barbara says all she remembers is wondering why there was nothing but white in front of her. The airbag. Which pinned her in her seat. Luckily. Her right leg was split vertically down the middle and if she had tried to get out of the car to walk, she would have injured it even more seriously. Within minutes she was air-lifted to Hershey Medical Center, where she spent several days in intensive care, had several surgeries, and was set up for several months of physical therapy, much of it while in a wheelchair.
That was about 4 years ago, but I could still see Gene's eyes glisten when he said "We're lucky to have her. You just never know."
Barbara broke into a big, loopy grin.
"And that's why I'm in Italy!" she said.
During their stay, we reconnected over Adriatic beaches, olive farms run a handsome guy named Fabio, local gelatti, restaurants with breathtaking views, and a cooking lesson in my kitchen.
Barbara's pasta turned out a little different than mine and Pam's. When she measured flour through cupped hands, it kept running out through a hole in her left one. She had lost a finger in the accident, too. Ironically, the middle one. No matter. While she was here, she was prone to giving gestures which did not require one.
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