Day 100
Cento.
That is the word for 100 in Italian … pronounced chen-toe. So, why, when I’m thinking of the word for one hundred do I think of the word in Italian first? I don’t know. One of those mysteries of life, I suppose!
In any case … today is day 100. This is my 100th post for my blog. If I dare say so myself, I’m rather tickled with my staying power. 100 down … 265 to go! Sounds like the unpacking figures but I won’t really go there … 124 boxes down, 523/too many to go!
Anyway … cento. Such a nice sounding word. It sounds even better if you say it out loud. There is something about the Italian language that makes one slow down … you can’t say some things too fast as they are lyrical and have cadence and rhythm and the sounds almost linger on your lips … cento.
Il raggazzi e le raggazze parlano per la strada. (Or something like that. It means that the boys and the girls are talking on the street. The ONLY sentence I remember from my Italian classes of 40 years ago!)
More than wanting to speak French (which I want to SO badly) … I want to converse with someone in Italian … and more than just rigatoni and pizza and al dente. I want to have a conversation where I know what I’m saying and more importantly (as I am known to combine several different languages into my own version of something quite unique) … for them to know what I’m saying! And for me to know what THEY are saying. A real, regular conversation … with back and forth banter and head nodding and arm flailing. I’m very good with the arms already … I’ve got that down pat!
When I was in high school … oh-so many moons ago … I took Italian. I was a senior and had some extra classes to choose from to fill my day and I knew the funny Italian teacher through a friend. I was in my 5th year of Spanish and thought it would be fun and an easy transition. I walked into his class and I was transformed. Italian is a beautiful language.
Even when a mother is yelling out the window at her son Anthony to stop teasing his little brother and to come in and wash up for dinner … it sounds lilting and wonderful!
In those days one did NOT take a freshman class as a senior. Unheard of – unless you were in Special Education – but I was determined to give it a whirl. And I’m SO glad I did. The teacher would always pick on me (good naturedly) and it was a riot of a class. He was such a doll. We kept in touch until he died a few years back and then I stayed in touch with his wife until she died a few years after him. I lost contact with his daughters and always wished they knew what an impact he made on our impressionable minds and souls. I’m sure I was not the only one he touched with his love for all things Italian. I remember hearing of his passing right before the three tenors sang in concert in Italy and thought he probably had a front row seat on the nearest cloud watching it all. He would have loved to have been there.
He was so enthusiastic and so passionate in his teachings. Senor Roberto Grottola … or in later years … Bob. I think back on his classes and he didn’t just teach us this romance language he infused it into us … through pictures and photos and food. His exuberance overflowed into each of us. He gushed Italian and he was so happy teaching us – even though we were awkward teens. I imagine part of why he loved teaching us so much was because it was a chosen class. None of us had t0 take it – we all took it because we wanted t0.
In any case, to this day, my favorite word of all time is undici (oon dee chee) which is the Italian word for eleven … but today is post 100 and all about … cento.