Pleasant Surprises

Held semi-captive not so much by OPT (Operation Potty Train), but by my bright red, raw and dribbling nose and the sinus swollen chipmunk cheeks; today I'm sharing not so much our exploration of the exquisite cultural highlights of Florence, but something more practical:

One of these things is not like the others,

Did you notice what was amiss in all but one of the pictures? 

A series of doors, only one with a mail slot and there are no mail boxes outside.

Just how does the mail get to the intended recipient?  

By many accounts the Italian Postal Service leaves something to be desired, but maybe the system isn't set up to be favorable to the postal service. In the morning, upon getting to the front door, which probably doesn't have a mail slot or box, the mail person just starts ringing bells of each apartment in the building in the hope that someone is home and will answer and open the door. Talk about cumbersome and impractical. What happens if no-one answers?  I don't know. 

Today was my turn to open the door. Wahoo. I did something for my neighbours. Maybe they will forgive us the ungodly hour that Ila wakes them on weekend mornings with her protests?

Last week, someone else answered the door and thank goodness because the mail person was carrying a piece of mail for little old me. My first piece of mail in Italy.  From an unfamiliar address in New York. Kind of a thick envelope. Ila and I climbed the stairs, with the young one carrying the precious mail and together we opened it to reveal:

My very first The East Village Inky zine! Hell, my very first zine. 

A gift from a wonderful friend back in the US. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Ila thanks you too. She has taken quite a shine to it and pours over it. I have to fight her for it. So maybe the Postale Italiane is just fighting an uphill battle against circumstance and when something is this important they make it happen?  From New York, US of A to Florence, Italy 3 days flat. I think that is bloody brilliant.