Ciao

I love ciao: it makes me feel welcome and familiar and liked.

Kids can say, Ciao. 

Adults who don't know each other say, Buongiorno/Buona sera or arrivederci.  I try to remember to say these to be appropriate, but I'm not a formal person, so I slip a good bit, correct myself when I hear the arrivederci response, and take my leave.

Blu Cafe is half-way between our house and the kids' school.  Occasionally we'll leave home early and stop there for croissants and drinks.  We've been there three times, I think.  When we departed from there last week, I said, "Grazie!" as we were walking out.

"Arrivederci!" said the owner.

"Arrivederci," I replied.

Back on the sidewalk I cursed to the kids, "Dang it!  What's up with arrivederci?  We've gone there a few times and he still says arrivederci: I want a ciao!"

The kids said, "Mom, he's probably just being polite."

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Happiness Cafe is two blocks from us.  Even when we don't go in but we're walking by, the owner waves to us big out the window.  One day, as I walked by on my way back to school, she blew me a kiss and called out, "Ciao, bella!"

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Bar 103 is on the corner between our apartment and school.  On Thursdays, Camilla (18 year-old-daughter of colleague of mine) picks kids up from school, walks them home, gets lunch at the Mensa, helps them with homework until Daniel or I can get home from work. 

One Thursday Daniel said, "I didn't get a key and the Mensa cards to Camilla.  Can you leave them at Bar 103 for her?"

"Is that okay?"  I asked.  "Will this make sense to them?"

"Yes," he said.

(me:  Could you imagine leaving keys and lunch passes at a store or Dunkin' Donuts at home for a sitter to pick up?  Daniel: If we knew them.)

So on my way back to school, I stopped in, gave Nadia the apartment keys and Mensa cards, said some Italian letting her know that Camilla would be by with kids, and said, "Grazie."

"Ciao!"

"Ciao!"