I want them to smile at me. Those 'nonnas' whom I pass on sidewalks. They are everywhere, wearing babushkas and black podiatric shoes, carrying groceries. I peek through their plastic bags-- vino sancto, castagne, filetti di acciughe. Hmmm....Intriguing. And their shoes, how do they have such tiny feet? I am captivated by this population of Italians. They speak many stories without even opening their mouths. ButI want them to. I want them to know that I notice. I want them to smile back.
I'm used to smiling at old people when we pass one another on the street. In fact,I seek this out. But…
