Eppi Borfdai To Iu!!!
A Baldo Birthday…
You & I hosted a party last year for my 70th Birthday. Seemed an important event to celebrate. We had hopes to duplicate the grand success of my 60th, coupled, as it were, with inaugurating our renovated Tuscan farm-house, il Poggiolo a Codiponte. Many had heard the stories of its four year resurrection yet, few had seen the results. So, invitations were sent, house all set & ready to go, we arranged mountains of food, tubs full of Prosecco & wines & beer in melting ice and a cute team of a singer & keyboardist to entertain our 200 guests wanting to bob up & down out on our aia… a farm-yard… until 4:00AM in the morning! Last year’s was less raucous. More sedate. We were older. Still, the 50 guests had a great time… or, so they confirmed… eating, drinking and dancing until past Midnight to the sounds of a middle-aged DJ playing 80’s dance music. Yep: Queen, ABBA, Elton John. All was cleaned-up and sent to bed by 2:30AM.
The question this year was… What in the Hell do you do for a 71st? September 7th fell on a Thursday. I thought to let the day come and go. No bother. No muss. No fuss. Such an innocuous number, 71. An inconsequential age. Let’s shove on for when I have accumulated more years. How about at 75? You would be up in Genoa, doctoring. I would be down in Codiponte with the Dogs. In the meantime, I began to obsess in wishing more the date would slip by unnoticed. Not so for others. The Family & Friends Group. Whatsapp, telephone calls, emails… all the social media abuzz with questions on how I was going to celebrate my birthday? My short answer was: Autoscuola at 10:00AM. You called me. The last to chime-in. He never seems to remember my obligatory appointments every Tuesday and Thursday for Driving Theory Class…
Oh? On Thursday? Driving School? Davvero? Che minaccia. But, it will be your birthday!!! Take cake and Prosecco to Driving Class!!!
You! They are 18 year olds.
So?
They don’t drink and if they do, which they shouldn’t then, not at 10:00AM in the morning.
They won’t care. They’ll love it. You’re an American. You should celebrate it with people. Do it!
Really?
Do it!
I don’t know…
So are you?
OK, all right, yes, I’ll do it. May I go now?
You hung up. Hate it when he beats me to it.
As luck… or Destiny, if you are acclimatised American living in Italy… would have it, there’s a wonderful fornaio… a baker… right across the street from Autoscuola Fivizzanese. Makes a phenomenal chocolate cake dusted with powdered sugar upon request, like a brownie yet yummier for a thick-shot of chocolate. AND, there’s a Carrefour around the corner for the Prosecco. By the way, it is the most expensive grocery store in a 100 kilometre radius. BEWARE!
My mental wheels began to spin. Paper cups? Napkins? Knife and cake server? A big deal. Guess I ought to ask Baldo if I might hijack the class for 10 to 15 minutes per festeggiare il mio settantunessimo compleanno. I sent Baldo a Whatsapp. In a matter of micro-seconds I got the Italian equivalent of a… Hell, yes!!! He added… another equivalent: Don’t worry about a thing.
Oh, dear.
I was bit nervous anyway. These kids don’t know me. Why would they? I’m a foreigner. An American one. I am 53 years older. I take notes. I ask questions of our Team Leader, Baldo. By some mystery, unknown to me and my nerves, I reply to his queries with the correct replies. I’m different. I have their individual weights just in my body fat. They seem weary of me. A Generational Gap? A Generational Chasm. A Gulf. The little party would be humiliating. I sought comfort. I called You, il provocatore of this imminent disaster. He didn’t ******* pick up!!! Damn. Now, I know it’s going to be mortifying. I turned to a trusty White wine chilled in our German refrigerator. Made in Naples too. The refrigerator.
On The Anointed Day, I arrived for class with all the necessary utensils & cups, and things carried in a decorator bag I had stolen from You’s extensive pile for such things, the freshly dusted chocolate cake, and a chilled bottle of Prosecco which, I had bought the day before at a discount grocery store nearer to home. Fine brand. About €7 cheaper than at the Carrefour in Fivizzano. A Franciacorta. Non e’ male.
What’s this? A table cloth? Flowers?? Music playing??? I know this tune.
No Baldo. Not a soul. An empty room. At 09:49:37AM. I quickly laid out what I had brought and sat down to look unassuming by playing with my iPhone. A convenient ploy. Kids straggled in sporadically. Heard several ask… the air or, anyone caring to listen?… What’s this? We’re having a party? Who’s got a birthday? I’d look up, give a nod of not being aware of anything amiss and returned to my iPhone.
By 09:58:13AM, the class… 15 on this particular birthday morning… had taken their seats to await further developments.
At 09:59;59AM, in bounced Baldo. He had his Public Announcer’s voice…
Attenzione tutti… per favore. We have a special occasion this morning. Our fellow student, Forrest, is 71 today and we have arranged a little something to help him celebrate. If you’d please, Cana? Come on up…
It was 10:02:00AM…
Cana is short from his last name. He is the Driving Class Clown. The Teacher’s Pet. Those two’s repartees are a great Qwtz stress reliever. The Autoscuola’s Floor Show. I’ve known Cana… Tommi, to me… since he was 4 years old kicking a soccer ball with his Dad out on the little street in front of their house in Codiponte. He’s a funny looking kid: short, stocky of build yet, with muscular legs… he is passionatissimo di calcio and plays for a local amateur team… has an explosion of curly hair up front and bush-whacked sides and is equipped with a mouthful of bright White teeth, shinning when he cracks a smile which, is quite often. Kidding from Baldo. I think he is rather an amazing individual… soon to be more so: unlike others in his age group, Cana is not afraid of people: adulti, ragazzi e ragazze, bambini, anziani, stranieri!!! Once, I caught a train for Milan and found myself unexpectedly sharing a berth with him and his Mom. Cana worked the carriage for nearly 3 hours talking sports, soccer, games, and more soccer, and with anyone willing to banter with him. He was only 8 years old.
Come on, Cana! Come on up and demonstrate you singing voice for Forrest…
Baldo flipped a switch and a kind of rock-a-billy version of Happy Birthday music started. Cana looked a Baldo, Baldo look at him and nodded. Cana started to groggily sing…
Stunned by the end of his performance, Cana shuffled back to his seat to resounding applause. I furnished the whoops.
Cake & Prosecco were served. I had just enough cups and napkins, cake & bubbly to go around.
Not a bad start for a 71st Birthday. Thank you, Baldo! Thank you, Tommi!! Thank you, classmates!!!
Driving Class got underway at 10:31:02AM.