She wears it on her wrist, like a bracelet, a circle of words in Latin. They draw me in and my eyes land there and rest awhile. I ask her what it means and she tells me that it means nothing is impossible if you are willing (or have the will). I love it.
Her tattoo takes me inside myself and reminds me of a decision I have to make in the coming months. That is; do I, or do I not, remove my nipples when they remove the girls and do the reconstruction? If I do remove them, should I do a 3-D tattoo to give the illusion of a nipple? Should I tattoo something else more fun and inspirational? Like semicolons or a line from a favourite book? Or should I do nothing and just leave a silent space where they used to be. I don't know yet. If I leave them, I've been told they could die (as there would be no blood supply) which would mean even more surgery. Um...no thanks. La santé ou la vanité. That is essentially the question. I choose santé but must figure out how to do it and still feel sexy, whole, feminine, empowered...myself.
Ok, so this is the deal with eccentric Italian lady (she is the host of the B&B where I'm staying) - she is never without her little piccolo - a little white chihuahua that is yappy yappy yappy until you rub his head or belly. He yaps until he determines that you are, in fact, a friend. La donna likes to talk and talk and talk, even though you've said you are stanka. Tired, not stinky. (OK, maybe also a little stinky). She tells you things - she is a widow for 10 years, her son, who lives there may be depressed, her other son has 2 children (una bambina and uno bambino). She talks loudly in Italian because you don't speak it. As if the loudness can create a bridge and reverberate into a clear translation.
Yesterday our conference day was spent at Orto Botanico - a little bit of paradise in the middle of Rome. After a solid training session, I drank (a LOT) of spritz and nibbled heartily on pistachio dolces and enjoyed myself like a true Roman.
Io e il mio amore will run the Iceland Reykjavik half marathon on 18 August. Something needs to be done after this glorious week of my no carbs, no cheese and no sweets left behind in Rome diet. Ooooo child.