Ok, I figure we’re finally socially acceptable. We’ve won the torta you see all dolled up in transparent frippery over there in the left.
It went like this. We were in the car a couple nights ago with Armando, who, as you remember if you have enough spare time you don’t mind wasting reading this blog, was singing in the Lunigiana chorus over at Terrarossa castle.
Armando informed us that this was a charity concert. Evidently there’s a network of folks here in the Lunigiana, many of them nuns, who work with unfortunate children in countries the developed world could care less about because they don’t do adequate trade or hobnob with our power figures enough. Poor ones, in other words.
Well, it turns out that between Martha and I we had exactly 1 bill between us. €50. No change. We were worried.
So we sat three hours at the concert, hearing enough free music to sate us, especially as I had lost the feeling in my buttocks. Then they herded us downstairs, where there was enough food to feed the army my father was always going on about. We ate. For free.
So, when I saw the donation basket, I kinda felt obligated. After all, it was my adapted community. So, I did what any red-blooded American would do with the €50 I had.
I asked for change.
It took nearly all they had, a sad fact in itself. Then I gave them €20 back. The old women manning the basket nearly swooned. I though maybe they thought I was being some kinda pretentious rich foreigner for a minute, then they suddenly started stuffing numerous and uncounted raffle tickets in our hands as if the torn off strips of paper were incriminating evidence and the cops were on the way. We had no idea there was a raffle.
So we stuffed the raffle tickets in Francesca’s hand—Armando’s wife—telling her to win something for us. We were heading home. It was, after all, nearing midnight and we were early risers. Well, I’m an early riser anyway.
The next morning Francesca shows up with the prize. So I’ve won an Italian raffle. Well, third prize anyway. We distributed bits of the torta to our little community on the hill. I feel like a king.
I wondered for a while what first prize was. Now I wonder if women can “man” a basket. I wish I was better at English.