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Curious Customs . . .
and other quaint rituals . . .
Although I spent the first 10 years of my life in the U.S. (L.A. to be more precise), I spent my formative years, those I remember better, in Rome, Italy. I returned when I was 20 to matriculate at UC Berkeley, and found myself in as strange and foreign a place as I had found Italy in 1948. Different customs, different rituals. In the U.S.: The Fourth of July, Halloween, baby showers. In Italy: religious processions, the shutting down of businesses between 1 and 4 p.m., two-hour lunches. All which helped play into my sense of “not belonging,” no one place being mine. There were things to be learned that everyone else seemed to know about (even things as mundane as how to use a pay phone . . . remember those?) and which knob turns on the hot water.
And then there are bridal showers.
Last weekend I went to a bridal shower for the woman who will be marrying my grandson in May. She’s a lovely young woman, and I have high hopes for this union since they’ve been together since high school, all through college, and they have been living together then and ever since (“ever since” being a few years). Time enough to have been exposed to those habits we’d rather keep hidden during courtship: the cap off the toothpaste, the socks on the floor, singing off key in the shower — those types of things. I’m sure they’ve both been through the…
