Papal Selfies & The Mistretta Invasion

I didn't know it was possible to feel nostalgic for the present moment, yet here I am. As I finish my third and second-to-last week in Rome, I can't help but miss Italy already, and I'm currently within its borders. I love everything about this city: the rich food, the fresh wine, the beautifully dressed people, the street music, the hum of the vespas, the language that makes even cat calling seem appealing, the strong espresso, the endless shopping, the way people pronounce their names, even the piles of broken marble. Maybe I'll try to snag a beautiful looking Italian man and get married so I have an excuse to stay. It's totally plausible... Oh wait, no, right, I have to finish college and I miss iced coffee too much. (Sorry, hunky Italian men. Please give me a few years and I'll be back.)

This weekend, I have no assigned trips or excursions. I had the option to book a plane, train, bus, helicopter, pack mule, etc, to visit virtually any country in Europe or city in Italy. However, I quite honestly do not want to leave Rome. I don't think I ever want to leave Rome. So, I planned the next best thing: my parents are paying me a visit. Or, technically, I'm paying them a visit in their fancy shmancy European apartment with old appliances and an amish-style stove. (I learned how to light a stove with a match and make espresso like a 1940s housewife. Not sure if I should be proud of that or upset because I'm setting myself back 70 years.) 

My mom arrived early Tuesday morning, crashed at my dorm to work off the jet lag, and moved into her apartment seven blocks down from my building. I spent the majority of the day helping my mom unpack and locate grocery stores. We found one grocery store across the street from her apartment which sold American specialties, namely: fruit roll-ups, Lucky Charms, Pop-Tarts, and Crisco. Truly a microcosm of the American diet. My dad is set to arrive early Sunday morning, and we are planning to FaceTime Michelle and Genevieve whenever something interesting happens. (Which, if you've been reading my blog, isn't hard to come by these days.) The Mistretta's are coming home after 90 some odd years. Sorry, Italian ancestors, I know you were in a rush to leave Italy but we're in a rush to come back.

On Wednesday, this great nation gave me another reason to want to stay: my bucket list got one item shorter. I took a selfie with Pope Francis. Attention IHA or Providence, if you would like to use my papal selfie for any kind of alumni brochure or ad campaign, godspeed. In fact, if I don't make it on some kind of alumni brochure, I will be deeply offended. After I hung out with Papa Fran, and his squad of cardinals translated his homily into 10 different languages, I bought a Pope T-shirt. Sacrilege? Probably. Worth it? Yes.

On Thursday, I spent a majority of the day on mass transit trying to get to and from the catacombs of St. Sebastian. In New Jersey, I have no reason whatsoever to utilize the train or bus. In Rhode Island, the RIPTA is a backup plan if I don't feel like driving. In Rome, it's just about the only way to get around, unless you want to walk 25 miles. Honestly, I would've preferred walking: most Europeans don't believe in deodorant, and the ones that do believe in deodorant also believe in excessive amounts of Armani aftershave.

For the past few days, my mom and I have been operating on a tight schedule of sight-seeing, shopping, eating, more shopping, coffee break, nap time, bottle of pinot grigio time, and dinner time. But unfortunately, I also have to fit in studying somewhere in that mix. It's about time- over the past month I've been doing more 'abroad-ing' than studying. Earlier today my mom and I were stranded in the vatican amidst a lightning storm. I think that was God telling me to not waste ALL of my parents money frolicking in Europe and make time to earn credit hours. You win this round, God.

But amidst complaining about studying I decided to give my mom, and her wallet, a break for the evening and I cooked dinner. I honestly can't get over how much better every single ingredient tastes over here in Europe versus at home. It's borderline unfair. At home, the vegetables make me break out in hives. In Europe, I eat them no problem. I'm starting to wonder if my pollen allergies are an American construct....

Conspiracy theories aside, we're off to prepare the apartment for when my dad comes tomorrow morning, and thus the Mistretta invasion will be complete - minus Michelle and Gen. (Come on over guys!!)

Ciao,

Sue :)

Our Christmas card for the next 100 years.

Trapped in the Vatican with the woman who gave me life. Hi mom. 

Italian domestic goddess.