Doing Dishes in Italiano

I think in America, we all have the image that Sundays is a day for family.  I wouldn't dispute that at all.  It's always a cool thing to hear of how families gather together on a Sunday afternoon, reserving that time for enjoying each other's company.  

I think that is one thing that I have missed over all of the years since our children all married and moved away. 

Which is why yesterday was a special day for me. 

We went to church (The Chapel) and worshipped with Erin's praise team leading the service.  I listened to a very good message by the Navy Hospital Chaplain on "Confidence" based on the story from Daniel 3:1-30.  We spent the afternoon just visiting and hanging out until about 4:00 p.m. when I went to help with the church's Awana program.  I actually followed my oldest grandson as we helped the teacher for the three and four year olds.  At about 6:15 p.m. we went home to a nice dinner Josh and Nancy had prepared - even had a tablecloth and "the good dishes" out for the meal.  It was a special day.

While at the dinner table, the four year old twins started to tell us what the dishes were named in Italian.  A fork is forchetta, a spoon is a cucchiaio, a knife is a coltello, and a plate is a piatto.  After that I'm pretty sure everyone was just making up words, making them sound Italian by adding an "a" or an "o" at the end of the word.  We had a bit of fun with it as we sat as a family, enjoying each other's company on a Sunday afternoon in Italy.

Today life is back to normal - for my daughter's family, that is.  Josh headed to work at the base, the older boys got ready for school, as did the younger boys.  They go to an Italian pre-school where they are taught the basics in Italian - a great experience for them that I hope they will remember as they grow older.  Erin and Nancy went to a ceramics class where they made a ceramic egg plate.  Rather than go with them, I elected to remain at their home. 

I was thinking about that special day as I washed the forchetta, the cucchiaio, the coltello, and the piatto.  I was struck by the realization that life in an Italian naval base isn't too different from life in any American town at all.  This base has people who know each other and care for each other with a common bond of being apart from their American homes.  

Family is important to them - so important. 

With a slight smile, I put away the last forchetta, grateful for the chance to do dishes in Italiano with some of the members of my family.