Today was Festa della Polizia, at least in our house anyway. Like most organizations in Italy, the police get their day once a year. Though officially celebrated last week in Rome with the President of Italy and various ministers present, it was done here today on a smaller scale with everyone heading to Bergamo for the ceremony and reception afterwards. It was not my first Festa. The first one I went to was five years ago, when I didn't have kids and was not yet married. I went and stood in the rain to watch Lorenzo and a row of other police officers decked out in full uniform stand and salute at various intervals during the ceremony. I always get a kick out of seeing Lorenzo in uniform, as he usually works wearing his regular clothes, so I didn't mind too much standing in the rain to see him. I did mind that I was in jeans and a Northface raincoat and all the other women were much more elegantly dressed, despite the weather. The ceremony was held in the front yard of some enormous villa, its' owners long gone, now used for weddings and formal events like this. Afterwards we all trooped inside for refreshments; wine, risotto, cheeses, meat, cake, fruit, champagne, all consumed while standing up. As I lolled against the wall, sipping my champaigne and gazing up at the ceiling frescoes, I decided that living in Italy and dating a police officer had its advantages. I, who come from a town where if you don't have baked beans and potato salad at the wedding reception you cannot consider yourself legally married, was sold. I decided I would never miss a Festa if I could help it. Three years ago Lorenzo was set to receive an award so I went, properly dressed this time, with Giulio then a wriggling seven month old on my lap. That Festa always stays with me because the Chief of Police at that time gave a speech where at the end he thanked the families of all the officers, recognizing that we also make sacrifices and thanking us for our support. That year though the Festa was held in a theater so while the food was good, it lacked the ambience of the 18th century villa, even if there was more elbow room. Then I sat it out for a few years. Last year we went because my parents were here and wanted to see the whole shabang (and eat the food!) They were not dissapointed. The Festa was held at the Catholic seminary named for John the 23rd (who was born not far from there) which is in Citta Alta (the high city) of Bergamo, so we had a spectacular view of the city below during the garden reception. "This is incredible!" my father exclaimed, shoveling in his second helping of mushroom risotto in truffle oil, indicating towards the view. The only fly in the ointment on that day was that Giulio was four days into being potty trained and proceeded to wet himself three times in about 45 minutes, usually only moments after I had asked him if he needed to go and him adamantly denying that he did. In the photos he is wearing a different pair of pants in each photo, the last pair being this ancient pair of sweatpants that lived in the diaper bag for unexected bathroom emergencies. I can't say that they really went with the freshly ironed polo shirt that he was wearing.
This year we have potty training firmly under our belt, but this year we have Livia, who is battling some virus that causes high fever and never ending grumpiness. I feel a bit like the woman in the fairytale where evil gnomes come in the night and take away my happy, smiling baby and leaving me with her fussy, unhappy twin. Where was my Livia? I didn't know this grumpy baby at all. I might have forgone the nice reception and stayed at home; honestly, sitting through a half hour ceremony with a sick baby and a energetic three year old all for a free plate of pasta seemed a bit much. But this year Lorenzo was getting another award for capturing and arresting some mob guy and I wanted to be there. The Festa is the one day out of the whole year where all those long hours and lost Sundays when Lorenzo's at work seem worth it and I didn't feel like missing it. I had initially asked Vanda to come with me give me a hand with Giulio, but she couldn't come at the last minute, so I followed two women Lorenzo knows from his union on the drive up because they had offered to give me a hand with the kids.
I was glad that I had a made an effort to look nice, because the two women, Gianna and Monica, were dressed to the nines when they pulled. Head to toe elegant black clothes, manicured nails, and long dramatic earrings, I didn't think they would take to kindly to having Livia leave snot on the shoulders of their jackets.
After parking we walk up the hill to the seminary where Lorenzo meets us at the gate, all decked out in his uniform. We let Giulio check out the bomb-sniffing dog and then go into the auditorium to stake out a place on the end of an aisle where I could keep the stroller next to us. The ceremony wasn't set to start for an hour and there was lots of room. No sooner had we sat down than Giulio begins demanding food, though this time I had come prepared with drinkable yoghurts and crackers, and then he starts demanding to go to the bathroom. I give a whiny Livia over to Lorenzo (let's hope she doesn't get snot on his shoulder, won't go with the uniform) and take Giulio to the scene of so many of last year's potty mishaps. We come back and Lorenzo hands me a wailing Livia and the video camera. "Ok, so it's really important you get the moment when I get the award, and maybe also a bit of the National Anthemn, and oh!" he says, putting the photo camera in the stroller, "Don't forget to take photos!" Geez, maybe I could take a ten page introspective photo shoot on the whole event and send it to Vanity Fair while I'm at it? I'd like to see Mario Testino use a video camera with one hand and bounce a grumpy baby with the other. Monica offers to hold Livia so I can film, but Livia will have no one of it. She keeps arching her back and wailing, clearly only Mommy will do today. In the end I hold her on my left hip, while with my right hand I operate the video camera as they kick things off with the National Anthemn. The camera shakes like an elderly Katherine Hepburn is holding it. I roam over the crowd, taking in the choir singing onstage; a mix of young children wearing matching t-shirts and baseball hats and an elderly group with all the men wearing tuxedos. The combination of the two sounds is intense, part bleating, part vibrating. They sing the first verse of the anthemn, against a taped orchestral accompionment, of which most people know the words, and then they launch into the second verse of which no one knows the words. The audience promptly drops out, though all the police who rose at the first chord to salute must remain standing, though fortunately after two verses the choir has had enough and we all sit down, except for me, while the Chief of Police comes up to speak. I turn the camera off and put Livia in her stroller and try to slowly rock her to sleep, listening to the Chief go through his laundry list of numbers and statistcs for the last year. You can be sure that there will be no thanking the families of the officers today. Livia has just dropped off and I am about to sit down when the man's speech ends and suddenly there is a thunder of applause. Livia wakes with a start and immediately starts wailing. They then move into the awards, which in some way is worse, because they are now applauding every two minutes or so. I resign myself to standing for the rest of the ceremony, easing the stroller back and forth.
I look across the packed auditorium to where Lorenzo and the other officers who are getting awards today are seated together, I assume that the ones who are standing are next to be called so I think I have a few minutes before I have to do any more filming. Suddenly Lorenzo stands up, shit, shit, shit they are about to call him! I fumble with the camera waiting for it to click and whirl into life, and then it comes on and not a moment too soon cause now they are reading out Lorenzo's name and he and his superior are marching on stage and saluting, and the officials are giving him his award and the audience is clapping, and I would clap to except that I am still holding the camera one handed, while rocking the stroller with the other. I film until he comes off the stage and then I turn the thing off and throw it into the diaper bag, and just as well, cause someone had thought it would be a good idea to end the ceremony with the choir singing the gospel standard "Oh Happy Day", not exactly the sentiment I would use to describe the police. Ask Lorenzo when he comes staggering in at 2 am after working 12 hours if it's a happy day that he works for the police. And is there a choir any less suited to sing this number than the group we have before us? Italians for some reason love Gospel music, it offers something that is foreign and that they themselves are unable to produce, and yes, Gospel music can be wonderful, when sung by the righ choir with the right spirit. These octongenarians and their 10 year old counterparts are not what the composer had in mind when he wrote the piece, this all white group of non-english speaking Italians who are not used to clapping together or improvising high notes, as the skinny soloist is now attempting to do. The spirit may be willing but the flesh is weak. The song doesn't sound exhaulted, but only tired, sung by people ready to go and eat lunch. The crowd doesn't seem to mind though, they join in clapping including Monica and Gianna, but their flesh is weak too and after a few bars they lose the beat and have to drop out. I bite my lip and look down at a sleepy Livia and try not to laugh out loud. Lorenzo told me later that he had to struggle not to laugh as well.
I realize as the choir winds down that in a matter of moments everyone is going to make a run to the door and to the buffett lunch outside and that I will have to battle the crowds while steering a heavy stroller and holding onto Giulio. I make the decision to get out early, Monica rises to the occasion and offers to bring Giulio out with her, leaving me to navigate the stairs on each side of the auditorium and then enourmous flight which leads to the outside. Luckily there are some firemen present, perhaps for eventual crowd control (things getting heated in the buffet line?) and two of them take the stroller and, like the Pope sitting in his chair, lower Livia down the stairs. She and I wait outside in the blinding sunshine as people stream out the enormous door and head towards the long tables loaded with food and wine glasses. The staff seems to be mostly teenagers, no doubt brought in from one of the technical high schools which teaches, along with hotel management, catering skills. It says a lot for my self-control that I do not make a beeline for the tables but wait until Giulio arrives with Monica, followed by Lorenzo who wants to know if his hat was on straight when he went up to get his award. He has obviously never held a baby and used a video camera at the same time or he would know that such attention to detail was beyond me at that time. We take a few family photos and then head towards the now long line to get something to eat.
All I can say is that I must be becoming a little Italian because even though the printed menu lists no less than 15 different dishes, the food just wasn't as good as last year. There was no pasta dish or risotto, though there were three different cold meat dishes, including roast beef with rocket and grana. But Lorenzo agreed, this year it just wasn't as good. Last year there had been two sets of tables as well, one inside and one outside, this year there was just the one set outside meaning there was more jostling and less elbow room. And I had Livia in her stroller to wheel around, trying not to nip the well-heeled ankles of the ladies and gentleman around me. So I have come to the conclusion that unless Lorenzo gets any more awards in the meantime, I'm not going back until Livia can walk distances without a stroller.
As a post script, I am writing this now on Sunday, the good gnomes gave me Livia back and she is here smiling and crawling and being generally good humored. Instead it seems Giulio is now ill, with a fever and a new developement: throwing up. I have a feeling it is going to be a long night........
