One month since the temple re-opened

 It's hard to believe that it's been more than a month since we updated this blog.  The photo above was from a couple of weeks ago in a village called Bagnoregio. The Andersons invited us to go with them on their P-Day to see this village built on a hill. I'll cover that after explaining why we've been mostly silent.

We went to Sicily last month in the last few days before the Rome temple opened after two months for a maintenance closure. We had an incredible trip and I expected to write about it; but the day after we returned, we started back at the temple and although a day in the temple is better than a thousand days anywhere else--sometimes it really takes all our energy. We usually work from 8:00 am until about 2:00 pm, but since we still don't have a car, we have to rely on the bus system; and that usually adds a couple of hours to the day. We live about a 25 minute walk from the temple and about a 5 minute bus ride--provided the bus comes when it's supposed to.  It's supposed to come about every 50 minutes, but some days it's Italy on steroids and just doesn't arrive anytime near when you needed it.

When Robyn and I worked as volunteers in the Salt Lake Temple, we only worked on Saturdays, and our shift started around 10:30 am ending about 3:30 pm.  I say about because sometimes sessions went longer than normal and for a few years, we were coordinators for the shift and would have extra responsibilities.  Like most temple workers, we would arrive excited to be there and five hours later we were exhausted and grateful to come home. We started that in our early 50's and now that I'm in my late sixties, I wear out faster.  Back then we'd come home and invariably take a nap. I remember sometimes waking up Robyn when it was time to get under the covers for the night. We worked Saturdays and recuperated for the rest of the week.  Here, we work Tuesday through Saturday and recuperate the other two days. It is a riot, but we're older and not as resilient as we used to be. Standing out in the sun waiting for the bus kind of saps your energy when it gets up in the 90's.  We're too tired to go shopping and often are forced *forced* to have pizza for dinner. Consequently, we do our shopping on Monday and have to haul our groceries a couple of blocks home from the store.  

Last Sunday, our daughter Lydia asked me "What do you guys have planned for your free day?" I wrote back: 

"I have to fix my bike, we have a ton of laundry to do, we have to go buy a fan, I have to go to the post office and stand in line to pay my electric bill, I have to go to a car rental agency to see if what they advertise is factual, we have to do our grocery shopping, I have to do the temple schedule for Wednesday through Saturday, and then we're free to do anything we want."

I use my bike when the bus doesn't come and I'm assigned to be at the recommend desk.  Robyn comes later when a bus finally arrives.

  When our bus does come, it gets us to the temple about 20 minutes before it opens. It's quiet and Robyn sits quietly while I walk around and wait to chat with others who show up early.  If you zoom in on this photo, you can see Robn sitting on a bench on the left side of the plaza.

The water feature includes a pool close to the front door. When people aren't nearby, seagulls have a riot swimming around.  When there are no gulls, swallows fly across the pond and drink as they fly low across the surface at ludicrous speed. There are also two-toned crows called cornacchie that hang around the temple. They apparently speak a different language over here.  In America, crows say "caw-caw." Here in Italy, I have been assured by Italians that there's an "r" in there and Italian crows say "cra cra" not "caw-caw."  There's an Italian verb for the crow's call: gracchiare. I've listened intently and can't tell if the "r" is trilled or not. The variety of song birds here is wonderful to hear (except for the tone deaf crows). The song birds start singing about 4:30 in the morning. I know because I'm old and wake up around that time most mornings.

The people who stay in temple housing are allowed to wear their white clothes (except for shoes because of tiny spiders) to the temple because it's about a 50 yard walk--ok, about 48 meters... and we stand around and chat about lots of stuff until the doors open. Everybody else is in white and I'm in dark slacks and a bit taller than many of them.

A few days ago, one of the guys taught me how to say "Let's go" in his dialect of Taranto (south end of the boot.)  I try to learn how to say "let's go" whenever I encounter a new language.  In Sicily it's "Ammo-nini!" Well, several of these people were from the Taranto area this morning, and when the doors opened, I said, "Shammanin!"  The women were thrilled to hear me make that announcement in their dialect. One guy asked his wife, "Did you hear him? He said, "Shammanin!" The other day I was at the recommend desk when the temple opened. As workers first arrive, they pick up their work schedules for the day. One lady got her schedule and said, something in dialect to me and then was sort of embarrassed because only people from her region would unerstand what she said. She apologetically said, "Oh, I'm from the Veneto." I said, "Go capio." Which is I understand in Veneto.  

When I was a missionary I lived in the Veneto (the region around Venice) and still remember a couple of phrases.  She was pleased and not a little surprised.

Dialects of the different regions cause people from those regions to speak Italian with identifiable accents--identifiable to Italians but mostly a mystery to me. 50 years ago, the cartoon featuring Snagglepuss was popular in Italy. (For those of you who remember, one of his recurring lines was, "Exit, stage right.") People thought it was hilarious that he had a Bolognese accent.  The accents are hard for us because it takes foreigners a few days to get used to the way they speak Italian. Missionaries who get transferred to a new region usually are lost for the first few days after arrival. The dialect of Florence, however, is standard Italian. The first time I went to Florence I was astounded that I could understand everything everybody said. It's because they have no accent. I asked one of the ordinance workers what his dialect was called. He deadpanned, "Italian. I'm from Toscana." (That's where Florence is found.)