Italian Driving Lessons

January 28, 2009
As soon as I could reach the gas pedal, which is how my father determines driving age, he immediately taught me to drive. I remember clearly one of my first questions, “What do you do when you come to a four way stop sign daddy?” His answer began a long series of Italian 101 driving classes which explain clearly why you should never drive in Rome. He matter of factly said, “You come’a to a foola stopa… and dena it’sa your turn.” Think about that for a minute.

From that moment on, I was exposed to lots of similar driving ideas like, “What’sa behinda you is'a no important.” and “We no hav’a roads’a in Italy, we make’a dem.” To reinforce the validity of his methods, he regularly announced that he had never been in an accident himself but never included the ones he’d caused.
Clearly, my father didn’t teach Paula to drive because she keeps pointing out pesky little details like, “This isn’t a fire truck.” and, “One way means the other way.” Details that my father would have taught her to simply overlook.

Of course, once you put skis on her feet, she really doesn’t have room to talk. Yesterday, while skiing effortlessly down a gorgeous groomed steep, a skier who could not have been Italian cut me off. I know he couldn’t have been Italian because he did not adhere to the reverse of the “what’s behind you is not important” rule which is clearly, what’s in front of you is! And I was obviously in front of him before he illegally crossed over and skied over the front of my boots, forcing me to significantly reconsider my placement on earth! In the midst of my bewilderment, another personal foul occurred, again from a non-Italian player, namely Paula, when she latched on after slamming into me from behind (notice the lack of adherence to the what’s in front of you rule) and we became entangled in this “oh shit” interpretative ski dance, swaying and dipping from time to time but always coming back to that cheek to cheek, we’re sooo gonna “eat it” style of dance, which for those of you who haven’t seen it would look like a cross between sumo wrestling and a beginner cirque de sole.

“Don’t fall!” she yelled as she finally let go, cart wheeling into thirty inches of new snow at the base of a huge Aspen. Great words of advise I thought. I haven’t seen her since.
Living in the present where the past is forgiven and the future is germinated are also great words of advice and they help me to realize that maybe my father had a point. It’s just not the one he thought it was. “What’s behind you is not important.”

Looking for Paula…Rosalie

Sundance Film Festival

Paula and I have been doing the Sundance film festival thing all week, watching one excellent film after the other. People watching is even more interesting than watching the actual films. We’re laughing, and then crying but mostly we’re dehydrated and starving because we can’t get into any of the restaurants or bars for a drink or a bite to eat. Apparently, Sundance Film Festival sells lots of $3000 tickets to people from Hollywood who are driven up in black SUV’s, wearing black clothes and black sunglasses at night, sporting sidekicks with furry boots, fake boobs and swollen lips. Every place in Park City is closed for a “private party”. I mean, you need an invitation to use the public restrooms. A guy in line last night asked a bouncer at the door when the club would open up to the public. “Tomorrow morning at 9am” he said, to which the young man replied, “but I’m drunk now!”

Away from the hustle and bustle of the masses in Park City is Sundance itself where the true Sundance film festival experience can be had. Robert Redford smiled at us a few days ago as we walked past him on a secluded pathway that leads to an intimate theatre where we saw our first film, “No Impact Man.” At the end of every showing the directors and sometimes even the main cast do a question and answer session. It’s really been fun…until tonight…

Tonight Paula surprised me with some tickets she’d purchased, to a terribly depressing film about depression starring a depressed woman. I’ve never seen anyone so excited about watching depression as Paula was about this film. She then added that the showing was in Park City not Sundance. Now I was depressed. Oh, and did I mention, the film started at 11:30pm. Get me a double espresso with a Prozac chaser please.

I have to admit that her enthusiasm about the whole film festival thing has been fun to be around. She reads endless reviews and circles lots of possibilities, talks with her sister about the directors and then drives to the box office, returning with tickets for things she’s never even heard about, without ever showing any disappointment. So even though we’ve not yet discovered increments small enough to measure my desire to see this film, I sucked it up and got in the cab thinking I’d be in bed by 1am. I mean how depressing could it be really?

Well, thank God it was a one-story theatre because by 1am I was standing on the window ledge, ready to hurl myself out and I wasn’t even awake for most of the film. Just then, Paula grabbed me and sat me back down only to announce that she wanted to stay for the question and answer session. Knowing how close to the edge I was, I abruptly stood up to walk outside for a breath of fresh air which was obviously mistaken by the director as a ploy to be discovered. ”Do you have a question?” She asked over the microphone as the spotlight glazed over the room and landed on me. Oh this can’t be happening! Surely she’s not talking to me. There are three hundred people in this theatre that didn’t sleep through this film.

“Yes.” I said with confidence, “I have a question.” And I actually did have a question. As a matter of fact, it was one of those double questions that would require a lot of thought and possibly even referring to staff, like the ones they ask politicians at press conferences. “Yes, I have a question.” I said, “What kind of film festival closes their Starbucks for a private party while showing depressing films ‘til 1 am in the morning and, as a follow-up please, do you know where I can get a Mocha Vodka Valium Latte at this late hour?”

Flying high without caffeine. Rosalie
* This log has been certified as being 97% accurate. – Paula Langguth Ryan


An important observation about this subject: The Greek philosoper and novelist Nikos Kazantakis once said that the secret to happiness is “a simple frugal heart”. But today, as many of us have become experience junkies and emotional consumers, always comparison shopping in an outer driven world, we’ve added fire to very real and life debilitating diseases like depression and alcoholism. I wish to extend “a simple frugal heart” to those suffering and to the families of those in pain. I understand first hand how very real this pain is. Although medication and treatment is necessary, it’s love and understanding that is the basis of all healing. May we all know the peace of Love now.