Today L. and I attend our first class of the year at Media Scuola Dante Aleghieri. The class is “Italiano per Stranieri” (“Italian for Foreigners”). We had been hipped to this program by Rosa at the end of last year, attended two or three sessions, but things were so crazy in the run-up to X-Mas that we never got to really sink our teeth in. The professoressa is very good. She speaks Italian clearly and beautifully-we can understand every word she says-and is excellent at giving examples of usage. I’m ashamed to say I don’t have her name at hand. We call her “signora” and the kids call her “maestra“.

Our fellow stranieri are so cool! Most are in their early teens and it’s a true global spread; an Iranian boy, three kids from the African continent, a girl from Sri Lanka, two from South America, a woman probably in her twenties from China, a Moroccan boy who grew up in France, and another boy from Afghanistan who looks positively Ghenghis Khan-ian with his broad Eastern mask and wispy beard. L. and I are somewhat more advanced in our knowledge of proper Italian than our classmates. We’ve studied the rules longer, working from an already firm grammatical base in English. Helps, too, that we write using the Latin alphabet. We’re kind of like those held-back kids you remember from 8th Grade, the ones with the stubble (seems like they were always boys) and post-puberty voices who everyone knew had problems, but who always seemed more “with it” if only by virtue of their extra years.

As Americans, we have a rock star status as well. All the kids want to ask us about the USA, they know names of famous cities and wonder if we’ve been there. There’s not a hint of animosity in their attitude towards us. Strange how our country can do so much ugly stuff in the world and yet still shine in the global imagination. A couple of kids mention Bush, who we are quick to disavow, and you can tell they see him as a malign force. It’s true of every Italian we’ve spoken to as well. They can’t understand what’s going on with this horrible man and his shameful deeds, but they don’t necessarily blame us personally. L. and I often feel bad getting a pass on this. Folks tell us it’s not us Americans, it’s Bush doing all the harm in the world but you know what? We Americans like a good old war and we like a big fat enemy to rally around. We don’t know squat about the rest of the world and we’d rather not bother and so we crash around like a great bloody bull and fob it off with protestations that we really meant well all along.

It’s crazy to reflect on the nativist ugliness here in Verona, especially after this experience with “Italiano per Stranieri“. The new mayor, Flavio Tosi, plastered signs all over Verona during the elections last year trumpeting how he would send the illegals back home. His party, Lega Nord, used images of scowling Middle-Eastern men crammed onto a boat to illustrate the danger Italy faces in the current environment. There was no attempt to show consideration for the feelings of the many people who have legally immigrated to Italy from other countries. His campaign to chase away the guys who sell counterfeit Prada bags and similar crap on Via Mazzini featured a big signboard on Piazza delle Erbe with a photo of a black-skinned fellow glumly hawking his wares on sunny pavement, as much as to say “you blacks and your cheap Chinese knock-offs must go!”

Here at the Dante Alleghieri the focus is on tolerance and integration, not cheap, short-term political gain at the expense of common sense and humanity. No one will deny that Italy is a small country and very much strained by the new globalization. Something sensible must be done to control the flow of people in and out of the country, that’s just obvious. Something must be done to heal this staggering economy as well. Admittedly, I have no firm solutions of my own at hand. But seeing these kids, these “stranieri” in our Italian class, so young and vibrant and standing on the curb of life’s rushing road, you have an object lesson in common humanity. In our enthusiasm, our need to laugh and joke around, our need to be confident and to cut a good figure at the right moment, we are entirely the same. Racism, nativism, snobbishness, and judgementalism- these are the tools of ugly politics and are used to keep the rich rich and the powerful enthroned. The great shame is how well these tools continue to work in spite of all best efforts. In any case, we say “bravo, Dante! Vai avanti!”

Well, those obstructionist clowns on the Italian “right”, Berlusconi’s bunch amongst others, finally manage to bring down the government of P.M. Romano Prodi. They’ve stonewalled him at every turn, just waiting for the chance to pounce, more concerned with regaining their razor-thin majority and flimsy mandate than solving Italy’s million problems. The scene from the Senate floor is sickening. We see the footage on Rai Uno, hanging out at Rosa’s; parliamentarians uncorking champagne, making faces, whooping it up and mocking Prodi as he gives his concession speech. They’re talking about holding elections this year and it looks like Berlusconi could very well be back. Rosa and Catalina think Berlusconi’s a stronzo, a turd, and hate the thought of him returning to power. If you’re an immigrant, working your ass off at an honest job, struggling to live with soaring inflation, facing the ugly nativist sentiment these guys on the “right” use so handily for their political ends, there’s not much old Silvio could offer you.

Why is it that the “right” are such a rank bunch of boorish bastards, no matter what country or age you’re in? The way those guys behaved on national TV….beyond belief! They made the U.S. House of Representatives on its worst day look like a model of decorum and reasoned discourse. I mean, Prodi was a dignified and soft-spoken fellow, intelligent and worldly. His government struggled to make significant progress, but at every turn he was stymied; by the vengeful “right” who only wanted to take him out and, to be fair, elements of the far “left” who found Prodi too accommodating, too centrist for their taste. In any case, the man was never given a chance and now he’s gone. Italy will almost certainly swing to the right, as immigration issues and a weak economy provide useful fear-levers for enterprising political hacks and Italians opt for the devil they know over the one they don’t. Che vergogna!

O Dio mio, another gut-wrenching, heart-breaking loss deep into the playoffs for our beloved Green Bay Packers! Last Sunday, we came back from a 14 point deficit in blinding snow to beat the Seattle Seahawks, just a beautiful win and, since Dallas was upset in Texas Stadium by the underdog NYGiants, we get to host NY at Lambeau for the Conference Champsionship game. This is a game we’re supposed to win handily, but the Pack come out shaky, cannot run the ball against super-tough NY defense and Brett looks flat. Eli Manning, #10, playing the game of his life. We keep taking him to third down and he somehow makes the play to get the first. A NY touchdown drive in the third quarter, agonizingly prolonged by a pair of third-down Green Bay penalties, eats up twelve minutes. Pack still in it, though. With score tied and two seconds on the clock, Giants have a chance to win with a field goal but the kick is wide. Game goes to OT! Packers win the toss and are handed their best chance to dodge the bullet, but, deep in our territory, Brett throws the killer pick, that dagger to the heart we’ve felt a good few times before. Brett will take you to the mountaintop, but he’ll let you down as well.

The live game aired 1800 hours U.S. time, midnight Italy time, so we waited ’til today, Monday, to hear the broadcast. Avoided looking at the Internet all morning in order to maintain suspense. I am working on brush and ink sketches, but I have to take a break as the game unfolds. My hands are shaking with tension and I cannot paint a straight line. Was a tortuous game, one I’d just as soon forget, though I know I never will.

Now the question is, will #4 Brett Favre, three-time MVP and Super Bowl champion quarterback, return to play next season? Dammit, he has to! He played one of the best seasons of his career in ‘07, was hardly scratched and plus, you can’t go out on a pick, brother! I’m begging you Brett- give us one more….

First jam of the new year at Al Duomo, just me and Ugo. We had a few good nights at the end of 2007 and I am really down with the owners, Giorgio and Flavia. I make them all laugh with my congenial, if imperfect Italian. Actually, the language is coming more easily to me. There’s still so much I don’t manage to grasp in heat of the moment, but I have grown comfortable with the transition phrases and can usually maneuver myself back into the flow of conversation when I lose the thread. Italians know their language is a mess so they tend to appreciate the effort when someone like me tries to hang with them.

The ragazzi want to know who I favor in the upcoming presidential elections. Many Italians, indeed people worldwide, are following the primaries closely. Seems most folks are largely unaware of the Republican Party’s existence, however. They all ask me, “Hillary or Obama?’ like those are the only two choices. All agree that the world will be a better place when Bush is gone.

Cannot sleep to save my life. All night I lay awake, staring into the black bedroom, going over, with sad and wan regret, the missed opportunities and vanished moments of our U.S. sojourn. Wish I’d talked to my nieces and nephew more; I was always on the run, washing dishes or folding laundry, never just stopped myself long enough to focus on them. Did I manage to really touch base with my brothers and sisters-in-law? Did we play enough music, laugh enough, dig enough things all together? Did I manage to communicate how great it feels to be with them and how much I miss them?

I think of my Mom. Of course I worry about her, all alone in that house. Can’t stand the thought of her feeling lonely. She has reserved a space in the New Hampshire retirement community where Pat and Phil Porter live and we face the prospect of her leaving Virginia within the next few years. We all think she’s making a great choice. She loves the Porters and will be a half hour from Ted and Alice in Montpelier, VT. Thing is, DeVonne Dr. is the last place my Dad lived before he got sick. Those backyard trees cradle his memory. In the rooms of that house, I can still feel him. I know he’ll be truly gone when the humble little split-level is empty of us.

The first time I went to see the house it was Dad and me. We drove up from C’Ville on one of those blinding, hazy, late-summer days. The backyard was waist-deep in grass and it was nothing but a jumble of boxes and falling down furniture inside, but my old man was really proud. Was it the first time he and Mom had actually bought a house of their own? I remember he said to me, ”’tain’t much, but it’s mine.” Sad as I was, at the time, to leave C’Ville, I fell in love with DeVonne Dr. that day. Throughout these sleepless jet-lagged nights, I can’t stop thinking of all the sad goodbye’s we have to say; wish it could be somehow easier.

We arrive, burdened and bedraggled, at Catullo Airport, Villa Franca. Our good friend Roberta is there to greet us, just like last year. She was kind enough to call Paolo at the kennel and tell him we’d be coming for Mary on the late side of the Italian work day, but we must make haste to get to San Michele- it’s almost seven in the evening.

The night is black, moonless and cold. The scenery has a dream familiarity. We talk and laugh but I’m feeling far away. Roberta strikes me as sad tonight, poverina. Wish there was something we could do to chase away her blues. At Paridiso Degli Animali, we have an ecstatic, bounding reunion with Mary the dog. This little creature is transported at the sight of us; she can hardly believe it. Paolo is a good man, agrees to a fair price for the boarding and we shake hands warmly in gratitude. Mary was clearly well cared for.

Driving back to Verona Centro through Borgo Venezia we view the unshifted XMas regalia. The sixth, Epiphany Sunday, is the last big gift-giving day for the Italians so the festive season continues. I’m so over it all. Just want to get on with my year. There are cars on the road but the city feels deserted, hunkered down against looming joy-less January.