Love,
Alexandra
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| Mushrooms sprouted after the recent rains! |
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| Even in the trees! |
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| Can you believe these spiders? What talent to spin such a great web! |
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| I guess they're still at work? |
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
More Yarn Bombing Pictures
Just a few for your enjoyment. If the first year is this amazing, just wait until NEXT year!
Love,
Alexandra
Love,
Alexandra
Monday, April 28, 2014
Eenie Meenie Minie Mo...
When we were in a restaurant in Verona, we were treated to the loveliest waiter who, while never annoying, managed to explain many things Italian and Veronese. He was absolutely charming, and it turned out that he had studied linguistics in university before starting this very successful restaurant (he now owns three restaurants, if that's any indication).
As a tease at the end of the night, he was trying to decide who would receive the bill. And he started counting out in turn, muttering under his breath. Assuming that it was the Italian version of Eenie Meenie, Minie Mo, I had to ask about it. This is the sort of thing you're NEVER taught unless in an organic way like this.
He laughed, said the words were all nonsense, but I insisted. For your reading pleasure, I give you the original and the translation:
Ambarabà ciccì coccò
Tre civette sul comò
Che facevano l'amore
Con la figlia del dottore
Il dottore si ammalò
Ambarabà ciccì coccò
In English:
(Nonsense words)
Three owls (or civets, depending on how you choose to translate) on the side table
Making love to the doctor's daughter
The doctor was sickened
(Nonsense words)
He then went on to say that Italian children are told when young that all the words are nonsense, but gradually figure out what they mean. Go figure.
Certainly makes choosing among options more interesting!
Love,
Alexandra
As a tease at the end of the night, he was trying to decide who would receive the bill. And he started counting out in turn, muttering under his breath. Assuming that it was the Italian version of Eenie Meenie, Minie Mo, I had to ask about it. This is the sort of thing you're NEVER taught unless in an organic way like this.
He laughed, said the words were all nonsense, but I insisted. For your reading pleasure, I give you the original and the translation:
Ambarabà ciccì coccò
Tre civette sul comò
Che facevano l'amore
Con la figlia del dottore
Il dottore si ammalò
Ambarabà ciccì coccò
In English:
(Nonsense words)
Three owls (or civets, depending on how you choose to translate) on the side table
Making love to the doctor's daughter
The doctor was sickened
(Nonsense words)
He then went on to say that Italian children are told when young that all the words are nonsense, but gradually figure out what they mean. Go figure.
Certainly makes choosing among options more interesting!
Love,
Alexandra
Yes, we know comments are annoying
Unfortunately, Google's commenting policy is nothing we can control; we have the settings on the "least secure" from the commenting standpoint, and are still getting lots of emails from our dear readers about how irritating it is. We are so sorry and miss hearing from you!
If you already know us personally, please don't bother even trying to post on the blog and send any comments to one of us through email or Facebook; we share them with the author of the post. If you don't know us personally, please suffer through the process once and tell us in the comments who you are and how to reach you, and then we can give you our email address.
In the meantime, if someone discovers that Google has changed the process to something less than highly annoying, please let us know!
Love,
Alexandra
If you already know us personally, please don't bother even trying to post on the blog and send any comments to one of us through email or Facebook; we share them with the author of the post. If you don't know us personally, please suffer through the process once and tell us in the comments who you are and how to reach you, and then we can give you our email address.
In the meantime, if someone discovers that Google has changed the process to something less than highly annoying, please let us know!
Love,
Alexandra
Third Time's Just as Charming!
A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to go to my THIRD Fiat 500 rally, starting near Perugia. Laura, a local friend of mine, went with me, and we had a blast!
We arrived very, very shortly before our drive, so we didn't have much time to peruse the many booths that were set up hawking all sorts of wares from jewelry to food items to clothing to ... to everything. Instead, we checked in, getting our goodie bag (including a Torta di Pasqua, a delicious cheesy bready thing which is amazing, bottle of wine, and cloth tote), and admiring the other cars present. One of these was the most incredibly wonderful (done after-market) convertible. Green, tan interior, just darling.
Excursion time!!! With a grand honking of horns, motorcycle escort, and lots of lots of oohing (from me), we were off. After a lovely tour of the countryside, we arrived in the center of Perugia (with police escort, people cheering, waving, etc...we were celebrities!). There was one little mishap that was actually adorable and so typical: the car of the person in front of me stalled and she couldn't get it going again. The bystanders quickly realized the problem and started pushing the car up the hill, and all the way into the piazza!
We had an hour's worth of hanging out in centro, which obviously meant a trip to the best gelateria in town, and then back into our formation in order to leave town. We drove straight through a pedestrian section, and then out. I warned my fellow drivers that I would be peeling off at some point to go home -- and when I turned around to go the other direction, we were saluted by honking and handwaving by all my Fiat friends all the way to the end of the line.
I'm seriously considering whether I can possibly justify going to the international rally in Garlenda (about 10 hours away) in July. They limit entries to 1000 cars....
Love,
Alexandra
We arrived very, very shortly before our drive, so we didn't have much time to peruse the many booths that were set up hawking all sorts of wares from jewelry to food items to clothing to ... to everything. Instead, we checked in, getting our goodie bag (including a Torta di Pasqua, a delicious cheesy bready thing which is amazing, bottle of wine, and cloth tote), and admiring the other cars present. One of these was the most incredibly wonderful (done after-market) convertible. Green, tan interior, just darling.Excursion time!!! With a grand honking of horns, motorcycle escort, and lots of lots of oohing (from me), we were off. After a lovely tour of the countryside, we arrived in the center of Perugia (with police escort, people cheering, waving, etc...we were celebrities!). There was one little mishap that was actually adorable and so typical: the car of the person in front of me stalled and she couldn't get it going again. The bystanders quickly realized the problem and started pushing the car up the hill, and all the way into the piazza!
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| With suicide doors! |
I'm seriously considering whether I can possibly justify going to the international rally in Garlenda (about 10 hours away) in July. They limit entries to 1000 cars....Love,
Alexandra
Sunday, April 27, 2014
You've Just GOT to Hand It to Him
We have just got home from a multi-day trip to Verona, so we'll probably have a few posts of our adventures there. One that stands out in my mind, though, happened on the second day of our visit.
As we were touring the Duomo, I wandered into a side chapel (actually a second church that the Duomo had been smushed onto); Michael came hurrying in to find me, and said, "If you want to have a delightful experience, you should get back into the sanctuary quickly."
Nothing loth, off I trotted to find three men in the elevated pulpit with a life-sized plastic statue (missing an arm...I wasn't sure exactly who it was), and a Mamma on the ground directing. This was bound to be good, so I happily took a seat and sat back to enjoy the show.
The plan appeared to be to perch the statue so that the armless man was standing between the column (it was one of those pulpits wrapped around the column) and the edge, as though he were surfing on the pulpit's rail. Very, very promising from the standpoint of humor potential.
The statue was plastic, as I've said before, but that doesn't mean there was no weight to it. And bear in mind, it was large and unwieldy AND there were three men trying to move around each other in a rather cramped space. Well, Mamma needed to give the artistic direction, so the next five minutes entailed her walking to the door of the Duomo and deciding that the hero needed to be rotated 6 degrees counterclockwise. Then she walked to a spot underneath the pulpit and decided that perhaps 12 degrees clockwise would be better. No. That just wasn't going to work. Another trip to the door. Let's shoot for 2 degrees anticlockwise. Sigh. Gesticulations. Much rolling of eyes from the pulpit (not the statue's, mind you). You have to envision that the statue's peregrinations involved much rocking and unsteady movement, so that we spectators were on the edge of our seats: we were convinced that he'd come a-tumbling at any moment.
Mamma was finally happy. Great! Then came a whirr of an electric drill/screwdriver, and the statue was fixed in place.
But wait! The finishing touch! Remember that the statue was armless? Turns out it wasn't: For some unknown reason, our workers had decided to leave the (bent) arm off until the statue was in place. I had the bonus treat of watching them make the statue windmill...quite a ridiculous spectacle. Tears were streaming down my face as I was trying to keep my giggles to myself.
Turns out that I was looking at a statue of a resurrected Jesus.
Love,
Alexandra
As we were touring the Duomo, I wandered into a side chapel (actually a second church that the Duomo had been smushed onto); Michael came hurrying in to find me, and said, "If you want to have a delightful experience, you should get back into the sanctuary quickly."
Nothing loth, off I trotted to find three men in the elevated pulpit with a life-sized plastic statue (missing an arm...I wasn't sure exactly who it was), and a Mamma on the ground directing. This was bound to be good, so I happily took a seat and sat back to enjoy the show.
The plan appeared to be to perch the statue so that the armless man was standing between the column (it was one of those pulpits wrapped around the column) and the edge, as though he were surfing on the pulpit's rail. Very, very promising from the standpoint of humor potential.
The statue was plastic, as I've said before, but that doesn't mean there was no weight to it. And bear in mind, it was large and unwieldy AND there were three men trying to move around each other in a rather cramped space. Well, Mamma needed to give the artistic direction, so the next five minutes entailed her walking to the door of the Duomo and deciding that the hero needed to be rotated 6 degrees counterclockwise. Then she walked to a spot underneath the pulpit and decided that perhaps 12 degrees clockwise would be better. No. That just wasn't going to work. Another trip to the door. Let's shoot for 2 degrees anticlockwise. Sigh. Gesticulations. Much rolling of eyes from the pulpit (not the statue's, mind you). You have to envision that the statue's peregrinations involved much rocking and unsteady movement, so that we spectators were on the edge of our seats: we were convinced that he'd come a-tumbling at any moment.
Mamma was finally happy. Great! Then came a whirr of an electric drill/screwdriver, and the statue was fixed in place.
But wait! The finishing touch! Remember that the statue was armless? Turns out it wasn't: For some unknown reason, our workers had decided to leave the (bent) arm off until the statue was in place. I had the bonus treat of watching them make the statue windmill...quite a ridiculous spectacle. Tears were streaming down my face as I was trying to keep my giggles to myself.
Turns out that I was looking at a statue of a resurrected Jesus.
Love,
Alexandra
12 km in Deruta
This morning I ran a local 12K race in Deruta. I wasn't that excited about it since I am still recovering from the Paris marathon, but Massimo reminded me that we have to show up for the local races so those people will come to our own in June. Therefore I went "just for fun".
As we drove up, my teammates told me the start of the race is "bellissimo" but the end is "brutto" (ugly). It is the same stretch of road, of course, leading from the center of town at the top of the hill down to the valley and then back up again.
As promised it was a very fast start down the hill. The surprise was that they have a wonderful running trail in the valley. No traffic, soft surfaces, shady paths, river views. Most of the race was there, and only the last kilometer and a half was uphill. Since I wasn't beating myself up for a good time, even that was quite manageable and I managed a full-out sprint up the last stretch and into the piazza.
Part of the joy of the Italian races is what they come up with in "premi" (prizes, or more generally the runner packs distributed to all comers). For my 7 euro entry fee I got a race and...
...a bag of breakfast cookies, a kilo of flour, a box of spaghetti, a local beer, and some advertising.
Michael
As we drove up, my teammates told me the start of the race is "bellissimo" but the end is "brutto" (ugly). It is the same stretch of road, of course, leading from the center of town at the top of the hill down to the valley and then back up again.
As promised it was a very fast start down the hill. The surprise was that they have a wonderful running trail in the valley. No traffic, soft surfaces, shady paths, river views. Most of the race was there, and only the last kilometer and a half was uphill. Since I wasn't beating myself up for a good time, even that was quite manageable and I managed a full-out sprint up the last stretch and into the piazza.
Part of the joy of the Italian races is what they come up with in "premi" (prizes, or more generally the runner packs distributed to all comers). For my 7 euro entry fee I got a race and...
...a bag of breakfast cookies, a kilo of flour, a box of spaghetti, a local beer, and some advertising.
Michael
Yarn's Away!!
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| Doesn't he look cute with his tricolore? |
I approached my friend Anna Maria (who owns one of the several yarn shops in town), and she also loved the idea! Hurray! Next step: convincing others that it would really be fun. We originally had the idea that we would bomb in November 2013, but that quickly became out of the question...as did the broad scope that we originally conceived. Keep it simple, right? |
| In front of the Theatro...and at night you can see the Todi eagle! |
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| The lantern lit...I don't have the hang of my new camera which is why it's duplicated. |
The date we had set for the bombing came and went. No permit.
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| All lit up! |
And then? The Wednesday before Easter, Anna Maria declared with joy that the permit was approved, and we could go ahead and start.
Are you kidding me? Easter weekend? Because obviously there was nothing else to do then. No bike. No time (choir practice, visitors, live crucifixions, ... such a blank time in the calendar, yes?). But it was approved!!!!!
Time to start on the bike in earnest. I confessed that I wouldn't be able to have it done immediately, but that I would continue to work on it and get it done as soon as possible.
Knitknitknitknitknitknitknit.
Sore fingers. Sore hands. No sleep. Grouchy husband.
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| Detail of chain and lock |
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| I want to ride my bicycle! |
Checking in with Anna Maria today, I discovered that there's still more to come -- so I'll post more pictures as the decorations continue!
Love,
Alexandra
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| Easter eggs |
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| In front of Anna Maria's shop! |
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| Ashley and James in front of the snake! |
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Paris Marathon
It sounds sexy when you sign up, but a marathon is a terrible way to tour a city. Last weekend was my first time in Paris so everything was new to me. The course promised to hit all of the sights:
I should have remembered from Florence: all of your attention during the race goes to yourself and those around you. "Is that twinge in my right hamstring going to get worse? Am I going too fast? Will they have any sports drink at this next aid station? Why didn't I train more/get more rest before the race? How in the world am I going to get around the clump of runners by that pacesetter? What! That guy is passing me again?"
I did not notice the obelisk in the middle of the road at Place de la Concorde. I did not notice the Louvre. I was vaguely aware that I was running along the Seine. I only saw the Eiffel Tower through a haze of exhaustion. L'Arc de Triomphe? Only meaningful because when I saw it I would finally be able to stop.
This was my second marathon. My goal for the first one was to finish, which I did. Now that I had experience I decided I was ready for an aggressive time goal, which for me meant first 3:15, and later 3:10 when I clocked a faster than expected half marathon in December.
First, the Todi runners (L to R): Massimo Fortunati (my usual running partner), Giovanni Imperato, Marzio Angelini (a club member there to cheer us on, and myself)
My race went almost exactly like I wanted...for the first 30 km. The pace was definitely a run and not a jog, but seemed manageable. I had done lots of pace work on the track and as a result was breathing slowly and easily at my planned pace of 4:30/km. Clearly that work had paid off, because I held that pace very evenly for almost 30 km.
Then Wham! The wall. Not only did it get harder to hold the pace, but I quickly realized that even trying to hold the pace would end in disaster. I could see that disaster in the form of fellow runners falling to the road. At first I thought I could slow down and still make my 3:15 "safe" goal. Nope. At the exhaustion deepened I stopped caring about that goal, too. I had even lost track of how long I had been running, having managed to pause my watch when I meant to mark splits (notice this happened after 30 km when I was very, very tired--the brain goes, too). After about 35 km the race was a mix of walking breaks, slower running, and gorging myself on water and fruit at the remaining aid stations.
But I finished. There were a couple of times that I didn't want to, but I knew I would kick myself later if I didn't. Final time: 3:20:18. 10 minutes better than Florence in November.
Post-mortem: I didn't adjust my goal for the heat (61 Fahrenheit at race start, and sunny), I relied on sports drink at the aid stations, which failed to materialize, and I was only partly recovered from the cold that came on the weekend before.
There is a reason marathons are so compelling. You cannot skimp the training, but it is easy to break yourself down by training too much. Then, in the race, you have to run in a way that conserves your energy for the later stages, and you also have to figure a way to take in new energy while you run because the human body cannot store enough for the whole distance. Finally, race day conditions can completely change what is possible after months of training.
I'll do another, but not this year. And I won't expect to see the sights when I do.
Michael
I should have remembered from Florence: all of your attention during the race goes to yourself and those around you. "Is that twinge in my right hamstring going to get worse? Am I going too fast? Will they have any sports drink at this next aid station? Why didn't I train more/get more rest before the race? How in the world am I going to get around the clump of runners by that pacesetter? What! That guy is passing me again?"
I did not notice the obelisk in the middle of the road at Place de la Concorde. I did not notice the Louvre. I was vaguely aware that I was running along the Seine. I only saw the Eiffel Tower through a haze of exhaustion. L'Arc de Triomphe? Only meaningful because when I saw it I would finally be able to stop.
This was my second marathon. My goal for the first one was to finish, which I did. Now that I had experience I decided I was ready for an aggressive time goal, which for me meant first 3:15, and later 3:10 when I clocked a faster than expected half marathon in December.
First, the Todi runners (L to R): Massimo Fortunati (my usual running partner), Giovanni Imperato, Marzio Angelini (a club member there to cheer us on, and myself)
My race went almost exactly like I wanted...for the first 30 km. The pace was definitely a run and not a jog, but seemed manageable. I had done lots of pace work on the track and as a result was breathing slowly and easily at my planned pace of 4:30/km. Clearly that work had paid off, because I held that pace very evenly for almost 30 km.
Then Wham! The wall. Not only did it get harder to hold the pace, but I quickly realized that even trying to hold the pace would end in disaster. I could see that disaster in the form of fellow runners falling to the road. At first I thought I could slow down and still make my 3:15 "safe" goal. Nope. At the exhaustion deepened I stopped caring about that goal, too. I had even lost track of how long I had been running, having managed to pause my watch when I meant to mark splits (notice this happened after 30 km when I was very, very tired--the brain goes, too). After about 35 km the race was a mix of walking breaks, slower running, and gorging myself on water and fruit at the remaining aid stations.
But I finished. There were a couple of times that I didn't want to, but I knew I would kick myself later if I didn't. Final time: 3:20:18. 10 minutes better than Florence in November.
Post-mortem: I didn't adjust my goal for the heat (61 Fahrenheit at race start, and sunny), I relied on sports drink at the aid stations, which failed to materialize, and I was only partly recovered from the cold that came on the weekend before.
There is a reason marathons are so compelling. You cannot skimp the training, but it is easy to break yourself down by training too much. Then, in the race, you have to run in a way that conserves your energy for the later stages, and you also have to figure a way to take in new energy while you run because the human body cannot store enough for the whole distance. Finally, race day conditions can completely change what is possible after months of training.
I'll do another, but not this year. And I won't expect to see the sights when I do.
Michael
Saturday, April 12, 2014
France
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| At the park |
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| At the bastille (with Daniella) |
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| They just wanted to prove that I have worn jeans |
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| After lunch in a park |
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| At the bastille (with Louise) |
So I'm back!
Ciao,
Florence
PS Here are some pictures of Brieuc and Luca (Luca is the dark-haired one)
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| This is Luca |
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| A picture of Brieuc |
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Hope to be Beatified
Can anyone resist a priest's invitation to set Todi on fire? Eleanor came across Don Riccardo on her way to the Oratorio today, and he asked for help in just that way. In fact, she and Ashley ended up scattering candles all over town (the kind in aluminum tins, to be placed on the ground), all the way from the Giardinetti to the Duomo.
The steps of San Fortunato were completely ablaze when I emerged to enjoy tonight's historic occasion in town that was being celebrated in the "usual" manner: that is, with torches, the aforementioned candles, horses, a band, the three confraternities, Red Cross, firefighters, and local archery club.
The occasion? The arrival of the image of Madre Speranza, a local who will be beatified on May 31 of this year at Collevalenza, a suburb of Todi.
Madre Speranza was born in 1893 in Spain, and went into the religious orders at an early age (taking on the name "Speranza"..."Hope"). She was dedicated to the poor, and was instrumental in starting several different religious homes. I'm a little hazy on the details, because I haven't finished the reading, but let me tell you about the procession!
We started at the Giardinetti at 9 pm, torches in hand. About 10 minutes later, a horde of Vespas and an old Lancia came scooting up the hill, and the band started playing. The confraternity members clustered around the (modern) van that was at the rear of the motorcade, and spent some minutes assembling the crucifix from Collevalenza in its processional glory, complete with lumber structure to be held by 6 men, burgundy velvet curtains, and so on. This was accompanied by a dear picture of Madre Speranza herself.
All ready, and we're off! We processed up the hill to Piazza Jacopone and then into the Piazza del Popolo. The piazza was about half full (quite well attended, in other words), and the bishop, mayor, and a few other dignitaries spoke. We then all crushed up the steps to the Duomo; the steps were flanked by the archers on one side and the firefighters on the other. There was a remarkably efficient torch-snuffing operation just at the doors, involving the firemen and a bucket of water.
Inside, we enjoyed a slide show (reminiscent of 18th birthdays) and a few speakers. At that point, we'd had enough, so we drifted off and came home.
Love,
Alexandra
The steps of San Fortunato were completely ablaze when I emerged to enjoy tonight's historic occasion in town that was being celebrated in the "usual" manner: that is, with torches, the aforementioned candles, horses, a band, the three confraternities, Red Cross, firefighters, and local archery club.
The occasion? The arrival of the image of Madre Speranza, a local who will be beatified on May 31 of this year at Collevalenza, a suburb of Todi.
Madre Speranza was born in 1893 in Spain, and went into the religious orders at an early age (taking on the name "Speranza"..."Hope"). She was dedicated to the poor, and was instrumental in starting several different religious homes. I'm a little hazy on the details, because I haven't finished the reading, but let me tell you about the procession!
We started at the Giardinetti at 9 pm, torches in hand. About 10 minutes later, a horde of Vespas and an old Lancia came scooting up the hill, and the band started playing. The confraternity members clustered around the (modern) van that was at the rear of the motorcade, and spent some minutes assembling the crucifix from Collevalenza in its processional glory, complete with lumber structure to be held by 6 men, burgundy velvet curtains, and so on. This was accompanied by a dear picture of Madre Speranza herself.
All ready, and we're off! We processed up the hill to Piazza Jacopone and then into the Piazza del Popolo. The piazza was about half full (quite well attended, in other words), and the bishop, mayor, and a few other dignitaries spoke. We then all crushed up the steps to the Duomo; the steps were flanked by the archers on one side and the firefighters on the other. There was a remarkably efficient torch-snuffing operation just at the doors, involving the firemen and a bucket of water.
Inside, we enjoyed a slide show (reminiscent of 18th birthdays) and a few speakers. At that point, we'd had enough, so we drifted off and came home.
Love,
Alexandra
Bus Ride Again
Tomorrow, I am leaving. Never to be seen or heard from again... Just kidding. But I am leaving- for France (Grenoble) and I'll be there for a week. This is with school. How many of you just got a little school jaunt up to France when you were in high school? Oh and we're going on a bus. I won't be writing about the trip as I am there, but I will write when I get back.
Ciao,
Florence
Ciao,
Florence
Cake Conspiracy
Jeremy's birthday was Friday, so he spent the three prior days working on a zucotto, a rather elaborate inside-out cake (what amounts to frosting, two different mixtures of mascarpone with other stuff, is on the inside, and the cake -- doused in a liqueur -- is on the outside). Since he obviously couldn't take it to school on his bicycle, Michael and I took a few minutes to take it to the school on the big day.
I had previously heard that homemade goods were against the rules for health reasons; having heard that one of Jeremy's classmates had also brought a birthday zucotto (complete with liqueur), I didn't worry about it too much and said nothing about the rule to Jeremy. When we arrived at the school, I proudly told the secretary and teachers who were hanging around that J had made it himself, and they said nothing about its not being allowed, either.
We dropped it off with the janitor/hall monitor, who said she would take care of taking it in to Jeremy at the break.
Well. Jeremy came back full of giggles at the end of the day. Apparently the teacher who was in charge of class before the break got worried about the health rule. She sent up to the headmaster for a determination, who rapidly said no-can-do on homemade food in class. And that was that.
Or not.
The next teacher came in, and heard the problem. She rapidly said that Jeremy should go to the headmaster to plead his case, and half the class volunteered immediately to go with him...the teacher allowed two other kids to accompany Jeremy to the headmaster's office. Unsurprisingly the headmaster was unavailable to receive the deputation, so they returned dissatisfied.
At that point, common sense and an understanding of previous actions took over. The hall monitor and the teacher agreed that none of the children in the class was ill, and therefore there wouldn't be a problem (logic, anyone?). Amid cheers, they said hastily that everyone could enjoy the zucotto, but they had to be super quiet, not breathe a word of it to anyone, not leave a trace, etc.
After the children (and the teachers and hall monitor!) had consumed 2/3 of a gargantuan cake, the monitor wrapped it carefully to appear as though none had been eaten. Jeremy brought the remainder home for our enjoyment! Yum!
We've heard of no one's getting sick from the cake, with the possible exception of one child...who ate six pieces.
Love,
Alexandra
I had previously heard that homemade goods were against the rules for health reasons; having heard that one of Jeremy's classmates had also brought a birthday zucotto (complete with liqueur), I didn't worry about it too much and said nothing about the rule to Jeremy. When we arrived at the school, I proudly told the secretary and teachers who were hanging around that J had made it himself, and they said nothing about its not being allowed, either.
We dropped it off with the janitor/hall monitor, who said she would take care of taking it in to Jeremy at the break.
Well. Jeremy came back full of giggles at the end of the day. Apparently the teacher who was in charge of class before the break got worried about the health rule. She sent up to the headmaster for a determination, who rapidly said no-can-do on homemade food in class. And that was that.
Or not.
The next teacher came in, and heard the problem. She rapidly said that Jeremy should go to the headmaster to plead his case, and half the class volunteered immediately to go with him...the teacher allowed two other kids to accompany Jeremy to the headmaster's office. Unsurprisingly the headmaster was unavailable to receive the deputation, so they returned dissatisfied.
At that point, common sense and an understanding of previous actions took over. The hall monitor and the teacher agreed that none of the children in the class was ill, and therefore there wouldn't be a problem (logic, anyone?). Amid cheers, they said hastily that everyone could enjoy the zucotto, but they had to be super quiet, not breathe a word of it to anyone, not leave a trace, etc.
After the children (and the teachers and hall monitor!) had consumed 2/3 of a gargantuan cake, the monitor wrapped it carefully to appear as though none had been eaten. Jeremy brought the remainder home for our enjoyment! Yum!
We've heard of no one's getting sick from the cake, with the possible exception of one child...who ate six pieces.
Love,
Alexandra
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