Summer Seaside

We arrive Sunday to Tortoreto, Italy, on the Adriatic side, for a simple late summer holiday.  We stay at the Hotel Capitano, who knows us from last time, and 30 years ago when Sonnet's family spent several summers in this beach-side town, which retains its charms from yester-year.  Roberto picks us up at Pescara for the 45 minute drive from the airport; though late, he offers to make us spaghetti while AC Milan v Juventis on the television.  The hotel staff remember the bambinos from when they were about four inches smaller, and Eitan endures some cheek pinching in that awkward way of every 11-year old.  The men kiss three times which is a custom I like.

Madeleine: "You do not speak Italian."
Me: "I do. It's second nature."
Madeleine: "Mom does dad speak Italian?"
Sonnet: "If he says so .. . "
Madeleine: "Say something in Italian then."
Me: "Like what?"
Madeleine: "Say 'can I have some ice cream.'"
Me: "Scoosi ice-a cream-a por favori."
Madeleine: "That is hardly Italian, Dad."
Me: "How would you know? Unlike me, you don't speak Italian."
Madeleine: "Say something else."
Me: "Roberto tell-a Madeleine I dis-i Italiano. Grazi bello. "
Roberto:
Me: "See? I speak so fast he cannot understand me."
Madeleine: "Mom is that true?"
Sonnet: "Whatever Dad says honey."