À la Americana

A few weeks ago, I stopped by my favorite flower shop in Velletri, Fioreria Patrizia e Monia, to pick up a bouquet of roses for Zia Leda's birthday. You may ask yourself, Francesca, why do you have a favorite flower shop???

Well, first of all, just look at those flowers. They're gorgeous. Not only are they beautiful, but they're also capable of creating joy. Every time I gift flowers, it feels like gifting someone joy. Second of all, I love to get the biggest bang for my buck (getting my money's worth). Usually, you tell the florist your budget, and they give you some options by listing what flowers you can include in your bouquet that are within your budget. This florist doesn't cheat me -- they always have the best flowers, they'll arrange anything I want in a bouquet and will match the color of the wrapping paper to the flowers. Third of all (can you say third of all?), Paolo.

On that Sunday morning, the flower shop was quite busy, and they were well staffed. I waited my turn, and a man, about 65 years of age came out from the back and asked, "Ok, who's next!". I waved my hand, and he said, "Dottoressa, how can I help you?" I said I needed a yellow bouquet, preferably with sunflowers and tulips. He complied and got straight to work. He picked three of the perkiest, largest sunflowers, and grabbed a bouquet of yellow tulips and began putting together his creation. I watched as he intentionally placed the flowers in a bunch while adding baby's breath and greenery. He looked up and saw me admiring his work and said, "Are you watching me? What, you don't trust me? Trust me, dottoressa". I laughed and as soon as he was finished he held up the bouquet proudly saying, "Ohhhh, what do you think?". I nodded exclaiming it was great.

Trust me, dottoressa.

He waved me over to the other counter so that he could finish wrapping it. While he was wrapping the bouquet, he began to tell me about his day.

"Today, I spent the morning in the fields, tending to my donkeys," he said.

"Donkeys?! That's wonderful!" I replied.

He continued, "My wife and daughter took the day off since it's Sunday, so I had some time to feed the donkeys and do some gardening. I took my wife's shift here in the shop and later I'm going to go home to make myself a niceeee lunch."

His colleague yelled, "No, Paolo, don't go home alone! Come out with me to a restaurant for lunch!"

He replied, mostly to me, saying, "No, no, there's nothing better than a bruschetta with your own tomatoes from your own garden, with your own olive oil, for lunch on a beautiful Sunday in your own home. Isn't that right, dottoressa?"

I agreed, telling him that sounded like the perfect lunch. He was right, and I was getting hungry.

As he finished tying up my bow, he asked if I needed anything else. I told him I needed another bouquet, made with red and peach colored roses, as well as two small orchid plants. He agreed to help me, asking if I wanted the orchids' vases wrapped with some colorful paper. I told him no, it wasn't necessary, they were already in nice ceramic vases that matched the white flowers.

He teased me saying, "Ah, so you want them à la americana?"

For an Italian, not wrapping any flowers you plan on gifting is like a crime.

I laughed and said, "Yes, exactly, I want them à la americana, just like me."

His eyes widened, and he said, "You? American?! What are you doing here?"

Ah, so you want them à la americana?

I kindly explained I was here to study medicine from California, and that my family is from Velletri. After telling him a bit about myself, he nodded his head smiling, saying, "I had a feeling you were a student, I worked in the hospital for 30 years. Good for you, I wish you well."

He found a box for my orchids and proceeded to assemble my rose bouquet.

"You know, I have a cousin in New York who emigrated in the 50s," he said. "Nowadays, Italy to California is like doing Velletri to Lariano!" he exclaimed, comparing the transatlantic trek to a 5 km distance between two towns. I laughed and continued conversing with him while he finished up my order. I payed, and then he helped me carry everything to my car. Before I left, I asked him his name, and he said "Paolo".

"Piacere, Paolo, mi chiamo Francesca (Nice to meet you, Paolo, my name is Francesca)".

"My pleasure, come back any time, I really enjoyed talking to you, you're... brillante (sparkling)."

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My small interaction with Paolo brightened my mood.

Paolo's assembled bouquet of roses.

He showed me how to appreciate the simplest things like his poor-man's lunch: a bruschetta, a piece of toasted bread with some tomatoes and olive oil, that he was so excited to eat. How he appreciated spending time with his donkeys on a Sunday morning.

He reduced a 9921 km (6165.941 miles) distance to a mere 5 km (3.1 miles) with a sentence. That morning after our conversation, Sacramento felt 9916 km closer.

I left happy to have exchanged a bit of our life stories. Of course, his being much more interesting as he's lived many more years than I have. But, this small interaction was enough to brighten our Sunday, much like the effect the bouquet of flowers had on Zia Leda, once I delivered them.

Now, every time I stop by the flower shop, the shopkeepers say, "Paolo, l'americana is here!"