Buon giorno Italy!

Our fearless conductor brought our band together one night (the Carrollton Wind Ensemble) and announced that we had been invited to play several special concerts over nine days...in Italy, next year! I've had romantic notions of seeing Europe, the Louvre, Paris, and being in places where the history makes America look like a toddler. The art...si si! In truth, however, the thought of travel sounds idyllic but then it scares me. Indigestion. Confusion. Sunstroke. My bucket list has never really included any major travel, as long as we get to go to a beach once or twice a year (and that only a few hours away). But the more we talked about Italy, and the more I heard from people who have traveled there, I began to hope for it. I told Ken that he had to plan to go as well. He tolerantly smiled when I'd bring it up and said he'd carry all the luggage. I immediately arranged to get my passport. When it arrived, I got online and made Ken's appointment to get his. I babbled on and on about what fun we were going to have, wondered what we will play, and basically told everyone I know that we are hoping to go in June 2023. 

Fast forward to our friend's daughter's wedding. Ken's sister, Melissa, is best friend to the groom's mother, so we enjoyed sitting with her and her family at the reception, having a jolly ole time. Melissa is like Ken in a woman's body...very organized, strong-minded, steady, responsible, and loads of fun even though she's so good. She probably understands my husband better than me. So when she leaned in and said, "Rose, don't make Ken go to Italy" I started laughing, because I knew that she understood us better than we understand ourselves. To sum up, she said, "If he goes, he will be trying very hard to make you happy. He'll be doing things just to please you. And you will be holding back on things that you really want to do, just to please him. So you'll both be miserable." I'm getting tickled, just thinking about it now. It's true. I can see it, me trying to drag him out of the room when it's late, to hear some minstrel playing on the street. There'd be fussing, relenting, second-guessing, guilt, and several other factors, especially exhaustion at the end, when all the time, he could be watching a movie in his cool, quiet man cave! We discussed it, laughing, the next day, deciding to go ahead and get his passport and make our final determination later. Several weeks went by, and then the night before his appointment he told me the truth: "I really don't want to go to Italy, Rose. But I'll go if you want me to." And I knew that he would. But I also won't make him. Love is like that.

I'm holding it all loosely. They might make us take shots I won't take or make us swear allegiance to some supreme leader that I'm not willing to follow, or everything could shut down the day before. For all we know, we could be eating beans and rice this time next year (much less be getting on airplanes). Ya gotta consider that anything could happen. Meanwhile, it's a really nice dream and I hope we get to do it. So I'm practicing my Italian, watching the Godfather series and dreaming about cannolis. I don't eat sugar, but if I get to go to Italy, I might just have to...