Permesso, Permesso

Walking the crowded supermercato yesterday I was passed by more than one shopper trying to squeeze by me as I stood gaping in awe at the rows of olive oil. Each jostle, faintly preceded by the sound of a sweetly melodic "permesso" (which I think is Italian for "would you mind wiping the drool off your face and standing to one side, instead of looking like the mind boggled Americana you are!") validating the obvious.

You see....after testy bureaucrats, red tape, much snow, and plane delays, I am finally ensconced in my new abode in Firenze. and if you listen closely....you may even be able to hear a more quiet lubb dubb as my heartbeat slowly returns to a more human pace.

For finally, after what seems like a one year stint in Dante's very own pergatorio, I have at last made my way to a land that has not forgotten what living means, and how, even when things are tough, or when you are ill, life can be better when you take the time to live "in" it and not skip over it.

I have met my new roommate, who has gratefully acted as forward foot soldier and now gentle nursemaid, scoping out Florence three weeks ahead of me so that all I had to do upon my arrival was unpack my trunks and figure out what I wanted to eat for dinner. I have met also the constant in my hectic life.....a person who underestimates his value to me and sometimes measures himself with a too heavy hand. Both of these souls have been saviours to me these days...helping me to feel more like I was coming home than I ever felt in a multitude of moves across the expanse of the US.

Completely protected by these two, I even felt the courage to tackle the questura on day two following my arrival.

Hearing again the word "permesso" yelped out this time by what seemed like a hundred hopeful émigrés, the word took on a second, more threatening connotation as each of us hesitantly asked for permission to stay, having finally been granted permission to come.

For it seemed to me, and every other person trying to navigate the questura, that the odds of being here in Italy legally and with every imaginable correct document, surely couldn't be achieved....yet here we all were, despite once thought, insurmountable odds, two men from Sri Lanka, a Bedouin, a Chinese mother with chubby toddler, a smartly dressed German, three women in chador and hijjab and one grinning Americana who managed to remain smiling even after three hours, simply because I was so glad to finally be making this long held wish a reality.

Looking amazingly stupid I'm sure, but grinning dumbly nonetheless I per favored and grazie'd with the best of them and was told my permesso will be ready "in about a month" and to "come back around then" as casual as that...just three minuti till one, even missing a photocopy of this and that, the tired and hungry questura employee, who graciously had pity on me....and countless others, and showed all us doubting Thomas's that maybe, just maybe, all our hopes and prayers could be answered here in bella Italia.

i don't know where these roads will take me......but if these first two are any example, I think i'm gonna do just fine.

Firenze awaits, permesso, permesso,