I have a lot of excuses for not blogging these days and having guests is no longer one of them. Everyone was gone by this past Tuesday. It was a very intense time, lots of emotional tilt-a-whirling, psychological bumper cars, and neurotic flumes. Yes, I spent a lot of time in amusement parks growing up. I am particularly fond of the water park in the sausage capital of Texas, New Braunfels.
I love water parks because I love water. There is nothing like swinging Tarzan-like from a rope into a deep pool, slipping speedily down a multi-bump water slide, walking through sprinklers, bobbing in a wave pool. Sure real ocean waves are better (and saltier!), but I spent many a thrilled summer day during my childhood running around in flipflops and a bathing suit with a couple of good friends and a floppy blue foam mat.
I had no intention of writing about water parks on this my first day back blogging. I am trying to get out of my own way here, to let all the hard stuff come up and out, to process a bit of the parental visit and face a few demons, but I've got nothing but water parks.
Naples has been suspiciously tame these days. Or is it that I have become so used to Neapolitan madness that it no longer seems mad to me? I told a cabbie, who was honking like a duck in heat in an effort to get the standstill traffic to move an inch, that it was useless to honk ("non serve!") and he shot back, "Non serve? Non serve." From his tone I do believe he was in disagreement with me. From the amount his cab moved forward after honking (not one millimeter -- check me out! I'm metric!), I do believe I was right.
It is really summer now, windy, so the air seems fresher, cool sea air. La Bimba is enjoying wearing capri pants and t-shirts. I slathered her with sunscreen, but she still appears to be getting tan, just a bit, above the sock line. If a t-shirt tan is a farmer tan, what's a sock tan? A retiree tan? A tennis bum tan? A look-it's-my-uncle-Irving tan?
I am worried that if Naples begins to feel like any other city to me, I will have to change the name of my blog. Or I will have to further exploit The Husband. The problem there is that he is learning English. He told me today he would like to read my blog. Caspita!
The Husband, La Bimba and I were walking along the street yesterday, when I decided to run ahead, hide behind a wall, and jump out to make La Bimba laugh. She laughed, but The Husband said, "This is not the time for that kind of behavior. We are still depressed." I liked that one. I told him I wasn't feeling depressed, that I was in fact feeling liberated and gay, thus the jumping around and other public displays of mirth. But he was adamant. No fun until the weight of the past few weeks passes. Still waiting for weightlessness.
I was at a lovely party this afternoon. The hosts are a couple from the US -- she full-time mom, he foreign service. I thought about joining the foreign service -- I like moving around, I'm good at languages, I know who Andy Warhol is (one of the questions on the exam according to the dude) -- but then I remembered my aversion to being inside US government buildings. Too much armed protection on the outside, not enough good politics on the inside. The first time I walked into the American consulate here in Naples and saw that grinning fool's portrait I nearly upchucked my gnocchi. Maybe once Kucinich is president I'll reconsider. Guess I have some time. Like forever. And I'm sure this blog entry alone has ruined my chances.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, I bid you anon.
I love water parks because I love water. There is nothing like swinging Tarzan-like from a rope into a deep pool, slipping speedily down a multi-bump water slide, walking through sprinklers, bobbing in a wave pool. Sure real ocean waves are better (and saltier!), but I spent many a thrilled summer day during my childhood running around in flipflops and a bathing suit with a couple of good friends and a floppy blue foam mat.
I had no intention of writing about water parks on this my first day back blogging. I am trying to get out of my own way here, to let all the hard stuff come up and out, to process a bit of the parental visit and face a few demons, but I've got nothing but water parks.
Naples has been suspiciously tame these days. Or is it that I have become so used to Neapolitan madness that it no longer seems mad to me? I told a cabbie, who was honking like a duck in heat in an effort to get the standstill traffic to move an inch, that it was useless to honk ("non serve!") and he shot back, "Non serve? Non serve." From his tone I do believe he was in disagreement with me. From the amount his cab moved forward after honking (not one millimeter -- check me out! I'm metric!), I do believe I was right.
It is really summer now, windy, so the air seems fresher, cool sea air. La Bimba is enjoying wearing capri pants and t-shirts. I slathered her with sunscreen, but she still appears to be getting tan, just a bit, above the sock line. If a t-shirt tan is a farmer tan, what's a sock tan? A retiree tan? A tennis bum tan? A look-it's-my-uncle-Irving tan?
I am worried that if Naples begins to feel like any other city to me, I will have to change the name of my blog. Or I will have to further exploit The Husband. The problem there is that he is learning English. He told me today he would like to read my blog. Caspita!
The Husband, La Bimba and I were walking along the street yesterday, when I decided to run ahead, hide behind a wall, and jump out to make La Bimba laugh. She laughed, but The Husband said, "This is not the time for that kind of behavior. We are still depressed." I liked that one. I told him I wasn't feeling depressed, that I was in fact feeling liberated and gay, thus the jumping around and other public displays of mirth. But he was adamant. No fun until the weight of the past few weeks passes. Still waiting for weightlessness.
I was at a lovely party this afternoon. The hosts are a couple from the US -- she full-time mom, he foreign service. I thought about joining the foreign service -- I like moving around, I'm good at languages, I know who Andy Warhol is (one of the questions on the exam according to the dude) -- but then I remembered my aversion to being inside US government buildings. Too much armed protection on the outside, not enough good politics on the inside. The first time I walked into the American consulate here in Naples and saw that grinning fool's portrait I nearly upchucked my gnocchi. Maybe once Kucinich is president I'll reconsider. Guess I have some time. Like forever. And I'm sure this blog entry alone has ruined my chances.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, I bid you anon.
3 comments:
Dear God have we got alot to talk about. I am a 30 year Jersey boy (but my folks are also living in Brooklyn) living in Naples and still wondering how the fuck he got here.
Drop me a line sometime.
ben.slavin@gmail.com
Ben
I have heard the name Ben thrown around. In fact, just yesterday asked me if I knew a Ben. Who was it that asked me? Could that be you? Hmmmm...
Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry that Hubby is learning English. I actively encourage my OH not to as it would take all the fun out of US phone calls and the blog.
And good luck getting past the waterparks.
Happy Mother's Day!
Post a Comment