PATENTE ITALIANA
GUEST WRITER STEVE JONAS (STEFANO)
Thank you Saint Medardo!!
Grazie a S Medardo
Most folks would be surprised to see me giving thanks to a Saint. But Saint Medardo is special, very special. According to one of our calendari, yesterday was St Medardos feast day. I took my oral exam yesterday as well, as sort of a feast day celebration, I suppose. According to my two hagiographies, it was also the feast day of St John of Rayunce (of whom, the hagiography says nothing is known), St Melania the Elder (about whom the hagiography mainly mentions that she was the grandmother of St Melania the Younger, was widowed at the age of 22, spent most of her time hanging out with St Jerome, left Rome just before the Vandals invaded, and finally, that she was a real bitch to her children and grandchildren. Then it was also the feast day for William of York, whose story is so well known I will not go into it.
Anyway, because my two books about the lives of the saints do not mention St. Medardo, and because they are in English, and because our calendar is Italian and the folks around here take feast days much more seriously (in the old days, one did not get birthday presents here, they got Saints days presents, on the day of the Saint for whom they were named!! Immagine a poor kid named Mohammed!!) I like to follow the Saint days.
I went to my lesson today. I was nervous. I had not slept well, I had dreamed of meeting an examiner who did not like Americans, and who would be tough on me. There were two new students at the Scuolaguida. We reviewed some stuff. The most fun was reviewing the sign that shows an airplane, and warns of low altitude planes. Deborah asked where such signs could be found. The Polish women did not know. The analphabetic pizza delivery guy (who delivered pizza without a license), who worked for Fabrizio when Friends was a good pizzeria, and now was driving (without a license) twenty kilometres one way each day to work at a restaurant in Porto Paolo, did not know. I told Deborah there were two places. She shook her head and said No, solo una. Then I told her near an airport and near a ski lift. She remembered the US fighter that showed off by swooping low, and hooking up with a ski lift, killing about 30 people, and flying on as if nothing had happened. Of course the US paid for damages, but claimed no real responsibility nor did the show off pilot get severely punished for killing thirty people through a prank.
Deborah smiled and suggested two other places, the twin towers and the Pentagon. She is nothing if not fairly sharp. The other two students did not understand.
I went home for a quick pranzo with Fran, and then my driver, Michele, dropped me off at a bar at Porto Palermo to wait for Stefano, one of the owners of the driving school, who was going to pick me up to take me to Agrigento for my oral exam. Everyone had wished me luck, and Toto next door had said he would talk to his friend Indelicato who gave the tests to make sure I got through. While I was waiting, I came out of the bar where we were supposed to meet to see the left overs of an accident in front of Porto Palermo. A moto had tried to illegally pass a panel truck as the panel truck was making an illegal left turn. The moto lost, and the moto driver (who was wearing his helmet!) was sitting on the curb with what looked like a broken leg. The panel truck driver was, of course nervous, and the usual cast of by standers, or standers by, were talking to both men, running to a bar to get cold water for the injured man to drink, and calling the police and an ambulance.
The ambulance made the ten minute trip to Porto Palermo from the hospital quicker than the police could arrive, and then it was simply the flagging down of a police car that got their attention. I truly think that all of the police officers were home having pranzo, as the ones who arrived with their lights flashing (three cars worth) came from all three roads leading to Porto Palermo that do NOT come from the police station.
Anyway, the first poliziotta at the scene was OUR BITCH. We have always looked for this woman since first we got to Sciacca, and went to the police station down town looking for the Police Commissioners office so that we could register with the Questura and get our Permisso. She was downright nasty to us, and we left calling her a bitch. Later we saw her on the street, and she actually smiled at us. After that, when we would see her and smile and wave, we would say to each other: She may be a bitch, but at least she is OUR bitch.
Being first on the scene, our bitch and her partner set about directing traffic and ignoring the guy sitting on the curb being attended to by the ambulance folks. There would be time to talk to him at the hospital, after stopping for a coffee or two, I guess. They guys daughter arrived, and tried to sooth him. It was touching, as she was about eleven years old, and was so sweet and motherly with her father.
Finally, more police arrived, more traffic was directed, pictures were taken, measurements were made, discussions were had, folks who had not been there until after I got there came forward to tell the police what had happened, the moto was picked up and taken to the side of the road (there is a rule that if anyone is injured, you are not supposed to move any vehicle parts until after the police have measured and taken all the pictures they want), verbales (records) were written (I suppose if they were tape recorded, they would be called scritores), temporary cones replaced in the trunks of cars, and peace reigned supreme. I went back to the bar to meet Stefano, who arrived within minutes. Off we went to Agrigento and Part II of this report, or Part IV of the story of my license to drive.
Hope you are able to witness rather than being in an accident, and that all of the measurements are correct. . .
S
Thank you Saint Medardo!!
Grazie a S Medardo
Most folks would be surprised to see me giving thanks to a Saint. But Saint Medardo is special, very special. According to one of our calendari, yesterday was St Medardos feast day. I took my oral exam yesterday as well, as sort of a feast day celebration, I suppose. According to my two hagiographies, it was also the feast day of St John of Rayunce (of whom, the hagiography says nothing is known), St Melania the Elder (about whom the hagiography mainly mentions that she was the grandmother of St Melania the Younger, was widowed at the age of 22, spent most of her time hanging out with St Jerome, left Rome just before the Vandals invaded, and finally, that she was a real bitch to her children and grandchildren. Then it was also the feast day for William of York, whose story is so well known I will not go into it.
Anyway, because my two books about the lives of the saints do not mention St. Medardo, and because they are in English, and because our calendar is Italian and the folks around here take feast days much more seriously (in the old days, one did not get birthday presents here, they got Saints days presents, on the day of the Saint for whom they were named!! Immagine a poor kid named Mohammed!!) I like to follow the Saint days.
I went to my lesson today. I was nervous. I had not slept well, I had dreamed of meeting an examiner who did not like Americans, and who would be tough on me. There were two new students at the Scuolaguida. We reviewed some stuff. The most fun was reviewing the sign that shows an airplane, and warns of low altitude planes. Deborah asked where such signs could be found. The Polish women did not know. The analphabetic pizza delivery guy (who delivered pizza without a license), who worked for Fabrizio when Friends was a good pizzeria, and now was driving (without a license) twenty kilometres one way each day to work at a restaurant in Porto Paolo, did not know. I told Deborah there were two places. She shook her head and said No, solo una. Then I told her near an airport and near a ski lift. She remembered the US fighter that showed off by swooping low, and hooking up with a ski lift, killing about 30 people, and flying on as if nothing had happened. Of course the US paid for damages, but claimed no real responsibility nor did the show off pilot get severely punished for killing thirty people through a prank.
Deborah smiled and suggested two other places, the twin towers and the Pentagon. She is nothing if not fairly sharp. The other two students did not understand.
I went home for a quick pranzo with Fran, and then my driver, Michele, dropped me off at a bar at Porto Palermo to wait for Stefano, one of the owners of the driving school, who was going to pick me up to take me to Agrigento for my oral exam. Everyone had wished me luck, and Toto next door had said he would talk to his friend Indelicato who gave the tests to make sure I got through. While I was waiting, I came out of the bar where we were supposed to meet to see the left overs of an accident in front of Porto Palermo. A moto had tried to illegally pass a panel truck as the panel truck was making an illegal left turn. The moto lost, and the moto driver (who was wearing his helmet!) was sitting on the curb with what looked like a broken leg. The panel truck driver was, of course nervous, and the usual cast of by standers, or standers by, were talking to both men, running to a bar to get cold water for the injured man to drink, and calling the police and an ambulance.
The ambulance made the ten minute trip to Porto Palermo from the hospital quicker than the police could arrive, and then it was simply the flagging down of a police car that got their attention. I truly think that all of the police officers were home having pranzo, as the ones who arrived with their lights flashing (three cars worth) came from all three roads leading to Porto Palermo that do NOT come from the police station.
Anyway, the first poliziotta at the scene was OUR BITCH. We have always looked for this woman since first we got to Sciacca, and went to the police station down town looking for the Police Commissioners office so that we could register with the Questura and get our Permisso. She was downright nasty to us, and we left calling her a bitch. Later we saw her on the street, and she actually smiled at us. After that, when we would see her and smile and wave, we would say to each other: She may be a bitch, but at least she is OUR bitch.
Being first on the scene, our bitch and her partner set about directing traffic and ignoring the guy sitting on the curb being attended to by the ambulance folks. There would be time to talk to him at the hospital, after stopping for a coffee or two, I guess. They guys daughter arrived, and tried to sooth him. It was touching, as she was about eleven years old, and was so sweet and motherly with her father.
Finally, more police arrived, more traffic was directed, pictures were taken, measurements were made, discussions were had, folks who had not been there until after I got there came forward to tell the police what had happened, the moto was picked up and taken to the side of the road (there is a rule that if anyone is injured, you are not supposed to move any vehicle parts until after the police have measured and taken all the pictures they want), verbales (records) were written (I suppose if they were tape recorded, they would be called scritores), temporary cones replaced in the trunks of cars, and peace reigned supreme. I went back to the bar to meet Stefano, who arrived within minutes. Off we went to Agrigento and Part II of this report, or Part IV of the story of my license to drive.
Hope you are able to witness rather than being in an accident, and that all of the measurements are correct. . .
S
posted by Sicilian Mama at 4:57 PM
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