Well, my hope to possibly have the book translated into Italian before I head to Italy for Christmas probably won’t happen. I’ve got a couple of options, but let’s be real–translating an entire book is not done (properly) overnight. I want this to be flawless by the time I release it to the Italian market. Too, I still do not know how much these other options are going to cost. So far, I’ve been quoted $4-5000 (gulp). If that ends up being the going rate, then I will probably get this translated sometime around the Second Coming.
This past week I spoke to my cousin, Sergio, about my upcoming trip to Italy for Christmas. I wanted to find out his schedule for the holidays. My plan was to fly into Milan and hook up with him and his family in Turin, an hour west. We would then drive together to Ascoli Piceno for Christmas. I had figured he would drive back to Turin before the New Year. That assumption allowed me to plan for a train ride from Turin to Paris to ring in the New Year. I would then take the train back to Milan and fly back to the States.
Turns out Sergio’s job as V.P of HR for Fiat has him travelling about two weeks out of the month, mostly to Russia and Serbia. He never knows where he’s going to be. I probably won’t be able to buy my tickets until early December.
But that’s neither here nor there. In discussing my travel plans with Sergio, he seemed kind of disappointed and wanted to know why I wasn’t spending New Year’s with them in Ascoli (this puts the kibosh on New Year’s in Paris, I guess). I was flattered that he wanted me to spend as much time with them as possible.
In addition to that, my brother was sending ten gallon hints for me to spend the holidays with him in Dubai. Between the two of these encounters, I was feeling warm and fuzzy.
Now, there’s really no reason for me NOT to feel warm and fuzzy. However, I was told about one person’s observation last year when I brought five people with me to Italy. One person in particular commented that he did not see any substantial desire on the part of my family to see me. When I first heard this, I figured, “Good Lord, what a twit.”
I pretty much forgot about it, yet it kind of bothered me. After the two conversations from my brother and cousin, I realize that the comments from this acquaintance were those of a tragic person obsessed with envy. Isn’t it sad that some people are so consumed with adolescent envy that they have to destroy the joy of others?
Yet despite that, it seems that every time I need them, my family shows me that they are there–without knowing that they’re doing so or that I need such. Is it any wonder I want to live there?