" Tough Cookies ! "

Politicians usually find a following by giving those to be influenced various goodies. Late in life I found out that I really want everybody to love me , or at least like me a lot... So, I have to admit that sort of makes me, what people I used to work with would call a " Politician ". Of course that appellation does not always carry a good connotation.

Our tour bus was tall and narrow,which made it possible to traverse most of the ancient streets of Rome with ease. I added a new word to my minute Italian vocabulary, by asking our very adept driver what was the Italian word for " Snow ?". He was not loquacious, but he would always politely answer a direct question. His answer was a curt " Nivea ", which sounded like Neeveea... I can't be sure of the spelling , but I think it's where they get the name for the white skin lotion , that comes in a blue bottle ?

If memory serves we left Rome at about One in the afternoon Adriatic time, to ride thirty Klicks east to Lake Albano. Lake Albano is at a considerable elevation above sea level, as it is actually the caldera of an ancient extinct volcano. Like The Poconos , I am sure it must be refreshingly cooler in the Mediterranean Summers. That must be why Pope Urbanus VIII selected it as his summer residence back in 1624... You know " Urbanus " must have been a popular name for guys back in the day? Like Jordan, or Michael is now days...Any way, he had some guy by the name of Carlo Maderno, to put up " Castel Gandolfo for him. That made the property values in the area sky rocket, and the next thing you know Bernini designed a nice church in the Greek style , for right down the street.

Close to our destination, the streets were too skinny even for our svelte bus. So we had to walk up a thirty two degree inclined, cobble stoned lane toward the cafe veranda. The view, as we sat over looking the lake far below, was as the Italians say" So beautiful !! ".Though when it's expressed in a Romance Language it sounds more impressive. Our guide Rose, ran us around mostly the outside of some of what we had come to see, and of course the ladies in the group wanted to check out some of the quaint shops...

Just a ways before Nuncio parked our sumptuous conveyance , I had observed what I was sure was a Bakery Shop. A sign had said " Bono Pan nae ", or the like... And in true politician form, I thought" if I can make it down to that Bakery in the few minutes left before the bus leaves town..." I was sure I could get some sort of goodies , to hand out to my fellow tourists. Surely that would raise my status in their eyes, and maybe even Margie's ?

Well I'm a good down hill racer, and I was able to find the shop just as the increasing lack of sunshine was making eventide obvious . Believe it or not as I pushed the glass paneled wooden door open , a spring at the top made those old fashioned jangly bells ring.It was as small as the town inside , and dimly lit. In the yellow light behind the short glass case, I saw two, not too elderly, Northern Italian Women. They each wore a dark, long sleeved sweater with grandmotherly white aprons. They seemed startled by my fat self bounding into their world unexpectedly. Sensing their unease , I wanted to put their qualms to rest ; so I gathered my meager language skills together and said " Bona Serra! , Comae Va? "( Which is how I spell"Good Evening! , How are you ? ,in Italian phonetically) . By the way the farther North of Rome you go, the more Italian starts to have a French accent, and the peoples features begin to have a more Northern European look... But as soon as I uttered " Quanta Costa ? " , I had to let the two Senoras in on my major lack of Italian language skills... They were obviously flustered because people who speak the Northern brand of Italian in those days said , " of the few words and phrases I knew my accent and diction was perfect." So, in retrospect I knew that they thought I was a local at first, and then had to do a double take!

Well it wasn't a Danish or German Bakery, but I opted for three bags of various cookies and huffed and puffed back up hill to the bus, There I was greeted by Marge glowering " Where were you?!! " She quickly forgave me when she examined my treasure trove... Once back in the seats we thought of as ours, and on the move again towards the plains, I thought "I'll just try one of these..." Crunch! Crunch!! Ack ! Have I just spent Twelve Thousand Lira on three bags of marbles?!! They sure weren't Toll House Cookies, or Pecan Sandies ! Or those nice soft peanut buttery thingys! Well as dumb luck would have it, everybody else on the bus thought they were the Cat's Meow, and for the next three days I basked in the warm glow of tough cookies......